tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69921158394589383752024-03-04T20:20:55.201-08:00Miss Hippie In Mississippi, a biographyMiss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-68507889382218310232018-04-09T20:46:00.002-07:002018-04-09T22:05:39.707-07:00Book Reviews
By Betty Eilerman on July 21, 2017
This is a "down to earth", real remembrance of how it was to grow up in a complex family, made more famous by her brother.Marcia's
unique perspective and sense of humor make it a very enjoyable read and
an important memoir for all of us as we reflect on our own life
journeys and how we are marked by every twist and turn, even when we are
unaware at the Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-48848646392566985422017-12-03T11:55:00.000-08:002017-12-03T12:13:09.747-08:00The Story of the Story-A Mystery"Put your John Hancock right there." Did Mr. Hancock really sign the Declaration of Independence or was it photo-shopped in, asks historian B.T. Raven.
Of course he did, they did not have the digital foolery we have today, which brings me to my present mystery, the letter from the Grateful Dead to their fans.
The show at Deer Creek was a disaster, even the police said they were not going Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-53227982634953781602017-12-03T11:42:00.000-08:002017-12-03T12:14:36.541-08:00Band LetterMiss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-87009248354399011412017-09-30T22:43:00.000-07:002017-09-30T23:01:57.003-07:00The Big Bill Chronicles-Carmel Woods
Photo taken in 2011. House looks neglected.
A simple wooden box with hinged lid sat inconspicuously on Dad's large oak desk.
It could've held paper clips or other office type items. Hidden in plain sight, Dad's box held loose leaf marijuana ready for rolling.
When the cops knocked on the front door, Dad wasn't nervous, he was sweating bullets. A lawyer, he could lose his Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-714576449633403462017-09-21T09:26:00.002-07:002024-03-04T20:20:18.950-08:00A Jambled RumbleI'm a lefty in a right-handed world. It's fun at times, confusing otherwise.
I get Kate Bush mixed up with Kate Wolf. I call a certain brand of corn chip "Sandinista"
Luckily, I'm not too politically buff or wonky, as I'd get the 2 Roosevelts confused, although I could never make that mistake with the Bushs, one of whom may be related to Kate.
C.S. Lewis is not the Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-56814496975042546032017-09-02T14:23:00.000-07:002017-09-02T14:25:19.226-07:00A Narc, Stormy Night by B. T. Raven
In those times, Los Angelenos were divided into either burrito camps or pastrami camps for takeout dining.
A tiny contingent became drive-through burger folks who tended to be Zombies from the Midwest who mistook 'Night of the Living Dead' as a news documentary shot in L.A.
They would chance the drive-throughs in the twilight in the hopes of snagging a few Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-77276133771059922532017-08-24T17:42:00.001-07:002017-09-10T11:47:57.261-07:00Leaning Tower Of Glory
This trellis is going to fall ... any day now. You can''t even see the trellis for the massive amount of Morning Glory vines draped like a solid green curtain, slowly pulling it over.
Each day I check for flower buds. A daily ritual guaranteed to disappoint, for there are no flowers, or hints of anything resembling a Heavenly Blue Morning Glory.
I Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-40591728400180813032017-08-02T13:35:00.002-07:002017-08-02T21:29:42.261-07:00"VERN"
The drivers speeding by on the state highway barely notice her. She is just another small pond under the tall pines in the forest. Just another body of water, one of several in the area. But Vern is a special body, unlike Boggs Lake or Forest Lake, Vern will disappear in the summer and transform herself into a Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0Cobb, CA 95426, USA38.821429599999988 -122.7191963000000238.815244099999987 -122.72928130000003 38.827615099999989 -122.70911130000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-39276855443999420292017-07-27T13:17:00.002-07:002017-07-28T14:43:10.119-07:00
Lakes
by B. T. Raven
All lakes, at some point in their careers were once rivers.
Most rivers, against their will, become lakes. They are dammed to become lakes as some sort of punishment. River prisons. The waterfowl and fish are innocent victims of this scheme.
Rivers have no right of free speech, but the brooks often speak out. They babble, mostly, being so little.
Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-90667791953024569862017-07-23T20:32:00.000-07:002017-07-23T20:32:16.039-07:00La Cucaracha
La CucarachaLiving in the Deep South was like living in a terrarium. Everything seemed oversized, from the six-inch long grasshoppers to the bullfrogs the size of my hand. Unless you cut down the trees, bushes and vines, then paved over your land with concrete, you were on a first-name basis with nature.Even the bugs were huge. The cockroach refused to be shown up by the famous  Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-10113093551834882722017-07-20T21:40:00.000-07:002017-07-21T17:03:22.192-07:00A Remembrance-Janice Beryl Shaughnessy July 21, 1923The first time Mom told me her middle name, I was disappointed.
But only because she said she hated it. She said it sounded like "barrel" even though she knew it was the name of a precious gem.
I thought having a name of a pretty blue-green stone was enchanting. Emerald is a variety of beryl.
Dad hated his middle name too and neither of them added their middle name in Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-29772329227707024462017-07-14T10:18:00.000-07:002017-07-14T10:18:59.300-07:00Waiting on a driftwood log
Dad's house is on the extreme right with the giant tree and the cliff can be seen on the very left edge of photo. This beach is Twin Lakes State Beach, Santa Cruz, California.
My father and Gale married in 1966, then bought a beachfront house in Santa Cruz. I fell instantly in love with it. Three sides had multi-paned windows which poured in sunshine (after the fog Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-41171942615769883732017-07-12T11:41:00.001-07:002017-07-12T12:41:30.952-07:00Roller coaster of the heartToday is July 12 ...the day after tomorrow will be July 14th, Dad's birth date in 1922. He would've been 95.
And as if that's not enough, the NEXT day, 15th, is both the birth date of my husband AND the date of death of mom/Miss Janice...but wait, there's more...July 21st?
Mom's birthday in New Orleans, 1923.......hello!
After Dad's 60th birthday at Raamwood Ranch, he turned to me and said " Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6992115839458938375.post-19991284656624990472017-07-11T23:37:00.001-07:002017-07-11T23:37:33.713-07:00MemoriesMemories ...
In writing this memoir, I’ve come to believe memories have personalities.
Some come bursting through the door yelling “write me, write me!” while others are shy, deep in shadow, a vague
silhouette.
The shy ones are the most challenging, as they must be gently coaxed out into the light, only to
discover they are holding hands with another memory.
Soon, I have a whole group in Miss Hippiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11909846998547946687noreply@blogger.com0