Redwoodgal Writing It Out~: Saturday Writing Chap One ~ June 2011

Saturday Writing Chap. One ~

by Patti Kirkpatrick on Saturday, June 4, 2011 at 11:12am

Eh hem... I thought I would share my thoughts on the various subjects I post on my FB Wall with you all .. my friends. I am a global person... I've spent my life experiencing life from homelessness as a child to a "Brady Bunch" family style to living in various communes as a young teen to a young adult. I've known religion-period. I've seen things no child should have ever seen and I have experienced joy at viewing the heavens from the mountain of a redwood forest to the ocean sleeping on it's bed of micro-glass sand cushioning my wandering body and mind.

I once was chosen to be a cheerleader in school that had me blissfully buoyant walking the school hallways 2 feet off the ground in the face of the rich girls who did't make it and of whom I actually felt bad for until a history teacher yanked on some invisible string that pulled me down to the dirty earth of the feet of those "rich" girls and stripped my cheer from me for TALKING TOO MUCH... Yep. I "talked too much in class. Imagine that. What the hell else were cheerleaders supposed to be like but TALKERS? I never cheered for the "system" again. Instead I thankfully held my holy solicitous nature intact. Anger never lasted long with me, sometimes seconds sometimes longer but always replaced when I witnessed or heard someone else suffering.

So yes... I found my "cheer" again. Through all of the changes in my life, the moves - I went to 27 public schools in my 12 years of required education and never actually graduated. My cheer took years to evolve and find places to revolt and speak and shake pom poms in the invisible gases that make up the atmosphere and jump, yell, TALK I shall. Then I became a nurse. That's that "holiness" I so wanted to share. When a grade school child I had an abalone shell with a cross of little statue of a man named "Jesus" in it. Someone told me I could marry him when I grew up. My intention from that day forward was to be a nun. Or a secretary or an anthropologist. I searched through the back of magazines and found these ads for joining a "nunnery" back east and I wrote a letter to one in 4th grade. My Mother received a response back from the nuns that said I had to be 14 to decide "Jesus" was for me. My Mother lovingly explained this to me me with a slight scolding to please ask her before I decide to "commit" myself. Then my dear Mother who struggled horribly with her own demons answered a question for me that stays with me to this day: I asked her how will I know when I am called to be a nun and to marry Jesus? Her answer was "You will just know I promise, it will come to you in a time maybe many times that you will recognize, I promise". This settled my anxiety about marring Jesus. If he was to call me I would hear the telephone ring for sure and it would be for me because in those days telephones were never rung for children.

So after I threw the cheerleading suit away I joined a group of new friends that acted like they lived in heaven which was the only place I wanted to be. Of course this state of mind took going to a local coffee house sitting in the dark listening to the Jefferson Airplane singing my favorite song "Lazarus" (of course it would be the one who Jesus loved and raised from the dead). Try that one on Mescaline. Sharing little pink, yellow and of course purple haze pills and wearing robes of many colors made us acceptable to be in the crowd. Hair became the new statement against the establishment... Still is. I have to interject here that I still hold Crosby responsible for lying through his teeth saying.. singing.. "I almost cut my hair".. Meh... He cut his fucking hair or it wouldn't be that same exact length it has been since 1968! I know these things. I was there. Saw the "boys" when they returned from Woodstock my Mother would not allow me to hitchhike too when they came back all stoked and did their first concert in Goleta, CA not far from San Luis Obispo where I lived with my Grandparents. Had to lie about that little weekend trip too. Ummmm Mom... Cecelia here wants me to go camping with her family in Isla Vista, Ca for the weekend, okay? The vodka in the coffee cup said sure darrrrllingg... Have a wonderful time. I had these psychedelic silk-like bell-bottom pants and a band in my long hair with the round dark glasses that a friend loaned me. I didn't drink alcohol, I hated the smell of it and pot just made me feel stupid so my source of ascending and mind expanding was dependent on shrooms, mescaline (my fav) and an occasional LSD. Although I preferred doing LSD in a circle of friends... It was more enlightening that way and if somebody started to go off somewhere ugly we were all able to pull them back in and have them "maintain" until time passed and we landed our little spaceship back on Mother earths wildflower garden.

The "Boys" were groovy and Young came along too. They were so high that they were sharing their dope with us! Fantastic second concert I had attended at that point in my 14 years. The first group was Strawberry Alarm Clock... I'll let you figure that out on your own. Concert over and one more night to go we headed back to the that "official " campsite area and some of the friends went through the campers iceboxes and "borrowed" frozen steaks" but of course left some for the families to share together. We never took everything. Back in the little town of Isla Vista or Santa Barbara or somewhere. We went and sat on the city Hall concrete stairs of which there were many of to get to the top. We settled for the middle landing. The cops were being pretty cool. Everybody was walking the streets laughing and flashing the peace sign and we were rapping about how cool the concert was when I don't know who it was to this day that said something that made me laugh so hard that my silky bell-bottoms started to feel real warm and then a stream of fluid started to flow down the concrete City Hall stairs... one stair after the other. I peed like an elephant and could not stop, nor could I or the other 13 hippies sitting there stop laughing either. Somehow we got up and made our way saying "Hi" to a cop s we exited the steps of city hall trailing drops of urine all along the way. Believe me if they wanted to find us they had more than a trail of bread crumbs to follow for sure. Now it was time to go to the beach and make afire and cook steaks and have me stand on a windy sand dune to dry out before one of the angry parents came to pick us up (80 miles away from home). We still laughed hard in the back seat of the station wagon all the way home.

My Mom moved us Back to San Francisco to get me away from the bad "influence" and drugs that seem to be quite prevalent in southern California. I'm still laughing, Goddess bless her dear soul.

This brings me to pause my reason for even starting this writing in the first place. Wanting you all to know why I am so diverse in my post subjects.

Part two... Later.