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On that date, I was almost 26 years old, working for the Recreation Center for the Handicapped in San Francisco, organizing community services for groups including those returned from the closing of the large rural mental hospitals to the "community," for isolated senior citizens, for disabled young adults.
I enjoyed long runs on Ocean Beach, and swam, alone at night, without wet-suit (a crazy thing to do given the rip-tides) in the icy water after warming up with pranayama. Long walks in Golden Gate Park. Trips to China town to study Tai Chi Quan with Master Choy, followed by cheap Chinese at the restaurant with the famously insulting waiter Edsel Fong Ford [^].
Music at the Fillmore, Winterland, poetry readings at 'Minnie's Can-Do' bar [^].
those were the daze, my friend ...
«Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?» T. S. Elliot
Indeed, sir. I'm convinced I was born 10 years too late, Bill-ji. If the stars were otherwise aligned, I'd have jammed at the Troubadour and likely been an early employee at Apple. But don't get me wrong, I'm (immensely) grateful for what I have, an in particular, my (reasonably) good health.
After single-handedly holding off the massed Russian hordes on the East/West German border for several years, I had just handed back to the quartermaster my sword, spurs, sidearm and several small nuclear devices, and was on terminal leave from Her Majesty's employ.
I was at home, had celebrated my 8th birthday less than a month before, and was not-quite-thinking about the new school year starting. Not too long after that I found out the world wasn't what I thought it was when my parents divorced .