People who know me from this blog are probably aware that I have a 60s fetish. Mostly this plays out in my obsessive archiving of the music of FM underground radio. But there were people involved, as well. I was a wannabe, never a real hippie ... I was only 14 years old for the Summer of Love. My older brother was 20, though, and he lived what seemed like a very romantic life, first in San Francisco, and then later in Mill Valley, where he lived in a big house with four friends ... they weren't exactly a commune, they were just friends with jobs who lived together, but they did a lot of the things I imagined people in communes did, and it was always liberating to visit them. When I got out of high school in 1970 and moved in with my brother in Capitola, I finally had my chance to be a "real" hippie, which mostly meant being a bum, hanging out on the beach, and taking drugs. Friends would visit us, including Stephanie, who I'd known since I was a kid and who also lived in the area at the time, and MC, who was a fascinating person, when quirkiness was highly valued. She had lived in the Mill Valley house, too. They were all in their early 20s, me and my friends were still teenagers, and we thought those older folks were like mentors. All of my friends and I had big, unspoken crushes on MC.
Time passes. I still see my brother, of course, and Stephanie lives close and we see her on occasion as well. But I haven't seen MC since 1971 or so.
Until tonight. Stephanie met us at Juan's for the usual Friday night carnitas, and she brought a friend. Yep ... MC had returned.
Here's a picture of the two of us: