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Tuesday, April 19, 2005 at 3:24 PM

Aging hippies.

What is the deal with aging DeadHeads and me? Within the past month I have been approached by several incarnations of this subculture on the make. It's not like Western NY is exactly rife with the sort of liberal atmosphere that would be attractive to followers of Jerry. Somehow they find me and they are in their 40's, almost old enough to be my dad. Not that I consider 40 particularly old, but experience has made me wary of males in this particular age bracket. Just this afternoon, I stopped by this cafe for lunch, and it was too nice of a day to sit indoors, so I sipped my coffee outside, waiting for the rest of lunch to arrive. And this guy at the next table starts talking about how he can't wait to get back to Long Island, and how he used to go to Dead shows, and missed going with the Dead to Egypt, and just talks and talks and talks and slips in "Hey, you're cute, d'ya want to go on a date?" and talks some more. I guess you can't fault a guy for trying. It's not that I have anything against DeadHeads or aging hippies, I am just not that into them hitting on me. This sort of thing has happened to me since I was 19 -- I was hoping I would somehow grow out of it. I don't even vaguely look like a hippy anymore, fer pit's sake. My hair is bobbed, no hair wraps. I always wear a bra in public, no patouli. No India prints. I'm a goddamn librarian and have the khakkis and cardigan to prove it! Why do they still keep coming? (I know, the picture in the corner would have you believe otherwise, but rarely these days do I look like that.)

By adriennelibrarian at 3:24 PM

Friday, April 15, 2005 at 6:16 PM

The Stream.

The thermometer outside my window (one of the seven I inherited when I moved into this house) reads 52 degrees. It's cool enough to need a jacket, but not too uncomfortable to sit still for awhile. Spent some time sitting by the small stream that runs through the backyard, contemplating the ripples, the slime at the bottom, the new green pushing up along the banks, getting the occasional whiff of the wild onion that makes up part of that green, and all the different bird songs...It could barely be called a stream; it's usually dried up by summer, unless the farmers decide to engorge it letting water in from the canal so they can irrigate the fields adjacent to the stream. Most of it is barely deep enough for minnows, though I have spotted some in the past in some deep sections. I am always amazed at how they get there when some years it dries out entirely. Perhaps there is some pool underneath the nearby concrete bridge which never dries up. It is also the home of water skeeters, tiny snails, and frogs, who are not too keen on being seen. I imagine that watching running water, even in this less-than-poetic landscape, this puny little excuse for a stream, is a good habit. Watching a river did wonders for the Buddha.

By adriennelibrarian at 6:16 PM

Thursday, April 14, 2005 at 10:37 PM

This is a test....

just to try and figure out how this thing works. Thanks Shaw, for setting this up because you know I never would have done it on my own. Who knows, maybe I will get all blog saavy and I will have followers of the blog just waiting to read the words of wisdom I would publish for all the world to see and appreciate. Hey, I can always daydream, can't I?

By adriennelibrarian at 10:37 PM

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