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What a Long, Strange, Journey

What a Long, Strange, Journey

Sitting in a cafe, listening to a Grateful Dead song as I write up the curriculum of the new class I want to teach, I am amazed at the twists and turns of my life.

So, way back in college, my roommate, (yes, the one who brought “Fluffy” the still venomous rattlesnake to live in a clear aquarium between the heads of our twin beds in the dorm much to the chagrin of my father)…I digress….So, she bounded into the room, and informed me that it will be “such a bummer to have to hang out backstage with The Dead” on my birthday. What? What, really?

She lived in San Raphael, California before moving to this tiny room, and apparently, her friend John, worked on the Harley Davidsons that the members of the band owned.

Back in the day, I had the biggest crush on Bobby Weir, who played guitar and sang, so she had got us on the list to hang out backstage.

It was dreamy, I met Jerry Garcia, who hollered at me to move off the cooler so that he could get a St Pauli Girl beer from inside it, and a Hell’s Angel named Billy, who was very sweet to me came up and guided me away from Jerry and Bobby and towards the side of the stage.

Flash forward many lifetimes, marriage, motherhood, home ownership, divorce, living in another country, and I never could imagine back then that I would be sitting listening to them jam over speakers as I play grown-up.

I just found out recently that my college roommate passed away 2 years ago, and the thought of that damn rattlesnake and those Dead shows that summer make me smile. Venture on "Sunshine Daydream", venture on.



 

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