Woodstock

That weekend in the middle of August 1969, my second son Phil was 1 ½ , his older brother Scott had just turned five and was excited about starting kindergarten in September. We lived in a rented house on Magnolia Avenue in Millbrae, California. I was a happy hippie housewife schlepping around in my Birkenstocks and granny dresses, growing sprouts on the kitchen window sill, baking bread, making macramé plant holders, and getting together with my neighbor for coffee and donuts. I designed table decorations for something called The Flaming Festival and I had a little craft group that met once a week in my basement.

Although I often drove up to The City or nearby environs for concerts and outdoor music, it never occurred to me to travel to the East Coast. How could they possibly top Monterey Pop Festival which had been held two years before and seemed the quintessential hippie event? Most all the defining moments in hippie culture happened on the West Coast. New York…where is that? Little did I know.

So I wasn’t there. I am willing to admit it, but there are way more people claiming to have attended than would actually fit in the state. There’s a new movie out. I haven’t seen it but I will order it from Netflix when it’s available. A trip back in time and some tie-dye memories.