“She’s an old hippie
And she don’t know what to do
Should she hang on to the old
Should she grab on to the new
She’s an old hippie
This new life is just a bust
She ain’t trying to change nobody
She’s just trying real hard to adjust”
How many of you can say you know this song by The Bellamy Brothers? Technically, it should read, “he’s an old hippie”, but since I am a she, I changed the lyrics above. It came out in 1985. Thirty-three years ago. The same year Back to the Future came out.
Back to the Future.
Almost goes hand in hand with the song.
Now, not that I endorse the above song and it’s subtle way of accepting drug use, nor do I believe in time machines made out of Deloreans, but I sure do remember singing “Old Hippie” when I was younger – and as I became older and found that I enjoyed being a modern day hippie (aka wannabe). I liked the the song as it told of the progression of someone who lived as a hippie, then one day had to grow up and grow out of it.
If you read my post “nothing but a suit”, you know that my family and I like movie lines. I am also slightly addicted to lines from songs. As in – I intertwine them into normal conversations…as if it’s normal.
Isn’t it normal?
Like this text message I had with my husband a few years ago that ended up retelling an Alanis Morissette song. It’s just how we roll.
But, back to being a hippie. Or a hippie wannabe. I’m not even exactly sure I was either. I think it was more of the idea of being free. Not in a “no rules” kind of way, but in a “Hallmark movie” kind of way where life seemed like a utopia. Long hair. Bell bottom pants (confession…I still wear these). Flowers. Oh how I love flowers. Daisies are my favorite. Dancing freely among the wildflowers. Volkswagen bugs (my dad had a bright orange one when he was in his early 20’s). And the music.
Oh, the music.
Now, as I’ve grown older, I realize that some of the songs from that era aren’t really up to par with how I believe and live today, yet I still find myself drawn to it because of the period of time they represent. Such a dynamic shift in history, and unfortunately, not all of it was a positive shift. I understand the reasons why, but that doesn’t always make something right. We all have reasons, doesn’t mean we have an excuse.
But the music.
I grew up listening to that music and still get a smile when I hear it today. I see a girl in a sun dress spinning around in a field of flowers with her long hair flowing, only held back by two small braids and a small daisy tucked behind her ear.
Or maybe that was me at one of my “hippie concerts” I attended that Charley referred to in his last post.
Either way, it still makes me smile.
Hippie-dom. Something I was always intrigued by. People I knew would call me a hippie because of how I dressed and the music I liked. I loved the documentary “Woodstock” and I had always wished I could have gone to Woodstock back in 1969. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen since I wasn’t born until 1975, but the thought of hopping in a Volkswagen bus with a bunch of people playing guitars and going to listen to live bands in the middle of someone’s land – wow!
Woodstock sweet Woodstock.
Now, when it was announced that there was going to be a Woodstock 1994 – I nearly jumped out of my skin. Are you kidding? Could this really be happening? I was 18 and I knew that this was planned just for me. Well, my parents who grew up in the era of the original Woodstock, had their own thoughts.
My mother shot me down before I was able to finish my thought of, “Would you let me go to Woodstock if I found friends to go with?” My dad, for at least 17 seconds looked like he was trying to figure out how he could rent a Volkswagen bus and drive me there so he could relive his hippie days. I could see a glimmer in his eye, a slight smirk on his face as he imagined Joe Cocker or Janis Joplin on stage. I could almost see him squeezing into his old bell bottom jeans tightened with a leather belt he made himself. His long, light brown hair blowing in the wind as we drove down the highway singing “Eve of Destruction” by Barry McGuire!
me and my dad on my graduation day. haha, just kidding. it was “decade night” in the youth group we were leaders for – of course, I picked the 1960’s!
But that quickly ended as he realized in order to do all of that – he’d have to deal with his wife.
“And I make it a point never to deal with my wife!”
Movie line… Steel Magnolias.
So, he shook off his wandering mind and hippie flashbacks and all he said was, “Nobody will ever be able to duplicate the original Woodstock.”
Major letdown. Not because I felt I would miss out on something, but because I knew he was right. It was very rare that I ever thought my parents were right when I was 18 – so I knew it was real.
In the end, I didn’t want what the 1994 Woodstock had to offer. An organized event (which normally would make me giddy). Modern day singers, metal detectors, ATM machines, bottled water. Ok, the bottled water would be joyfully welcomed, but none of it resembled the impromptu Woodstock of 1969. I remember watching a clip from Blind Melon performing at Woodstock ’94 and it made me nauseous. No joke. The lead singer, Shannon Hoon, high on acid, danced and convulsed around on stage in a dress with barrettes in his hair, an outfit he borrowed from his girlfriend. I have no idea what they were trying to convey, but it was terrible. That alone made me glad I wasn’t there. A year later, Hoon died of a cocaine overdose at the young age of 28. Following in the steps of so many other musicians who died a year younger at the age of 27 – aka – The 27 Club. Jim Morrison. Jimi Hendrix. Janice Joplin. Brian Jones. Kurt Cobain. Amy Winehouse. Just to name a few.
Definitely not the same.
My dad was right. There could never be another Woodstock ’69 and I came to terms with the fact that I wasn’t there and never would be.
Unless, of course, I came across a time machine made out of a Delorean.
Wouldn’t that be awesome?!
So, now I sort of get to live out part of that dream I’ve had for a good portion of my life. I am hopping in a truck and traveling the United States for a year. Not with a bus full of long-haired guitar players, but my husband (who once had long hair), my two kids (neither one a love-child) and our pug. We will drink bottled water, learn about America’s history, visit family and friends (not farms hosting concerts) and we’ll be sleeping comfortably in our 5th wheel, Gipzee, not on the ground with over 400,000 other people.
Yes, I said Gipzee.
I admit that a little bit of my hippie tendencies came out when I named the 5th wheel!
Ahhh, Gipzee.
“On the road again
Like a band of Gypsies we go down the highway
We’re the best of friends
Insisting that the world keep turnin’ our way”
A little Willie Nelson for you from his 1980 song, “On the Road Again”. It’s also the song hubby plays every time we get in the Jeep to take a trip to the mountains – it doesn’t matter if it’s a short or long trip – Willie’s song is started before we leave our driveway and everyone is the car is expected to sing it. Out loud. Seemed appropriate for this part of the post.
As for us, we’ll be drug-free, but we will spread love in each city we visit as we serve in local Rescue Missions and whatever other ways we are led to serve those around us. I’ll pack some bell bottoms and will probably grow my hair long again (it was down to my waist when we got married 17 years ago) and I may have a playlist that contains some of those old songs from the ’60’s.
But no Woodstock for us this time around. In fact, the year I got married, the year 2000, I had this epiphany about what it would have been like had I been a teenager at the time of Woodstock ’69 and actually attended. When I had this image, which played out like a movie in my head, I went upstairs to my mother working on flowers for my wedding at the kitchen table, and had the following conversation with her:
“Hey mom! So I was thinking downstairs and realized that it’s probably a good thing I wasn’t around to attend the original Woodstock.”
“Why is that?” She asked, so nonchalantly.
“Well, because I probably would have gotten caught up in it all and ended up doing drugs just like everyone else did.”
At that moment, I’m pretty sure my mother sucked all the air out of the room. Possibly the house.
For real.
With her hand over her chest, as if trying to hold onto the last bit of air available, she looked at me with such disappointment and muttered, “Kari, you would have?????”
Seriously. So much disappointment in her voice. And face. And body.
So, I took a minute and waited for the room to fill back up with air again and I answered her with utter confidence…
“Well, I’m not going to dance around naked in the mud sober!!!”
Then I turned and walked off.
Hippie.
It may not ever truly describe the character of who I am, but it definitely brings to my mind the image of flowers, sunshine, cool clothes, being barefoot and music created from the heart. Just a few things I’m hoping to experience on our roadtrip that we start in just 5 short months.
I’d take this over Woodstock any day.
Peace.
Be honest. Would you have joined me at Woodstock ’69?