the dance

I am old hippie.

My kids call my house (I designed it and built it and then rebuilt it) “Dad’s Hippie Hut.” That is a definition that does not bother me.

My hippie credentials are a bit squishy when you remember that I was (and am) monogamous, that I don’t do drugs, or even alcohol. So I don’t fit into categories easily.

When I was in my early independent days I spent 3 summers living in a 14 by 14 house that sat right on top of a mountain. Sometimes we were in the clouds, but more often we were above the clouds. It was exhilarating.

I eat simple. Close to the dirt. Home grown as much as possible. Lots of color. I am a vegetarian. I adore small spaces and small houses. I lived a year in a 300 square a tiny house.My art work is quite minimalist. I drive a 23 year old car that I bought new as a gift for my beloved. As I said, I am simple person.

Sixteen years ago my sweetheart contracted a terminal disease and I lost her last year. I lived alone, but that was not working out well. But finding someone who shared my lifestyle wishes and was fun to be with was and is a challenge.

I used to tell my students in college: If you can hit the ball two times out of ten, and strike out the other 8 you will have a decent career in baseball. If you can hit the ball 3 times out of ten, riches will follow. It works in baseball.

So my new woman and I are at the educate and adjust stage of our dance together. Earlier this week I made Oatmeal for breakfast and the pot boiled over. She told me I was not to cook any more. So the next day I cooked Polenta! I’ll not stop.

And, the dance continues.