You're Not in Kansas Anymore

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

Hot air balloons are so beautiful to watch floating across the sky. If you ever have the chance to go up in one, do it; you will love it. This is coming from someone that is deathly afraid of heights; I mean, I have issues with step ladders. So why would I recommend you go up? Because I've been up three times! That's right, three times. So how does a person who suffers from severe acrophobia end up in a hot air balloon three times?

The first time I was working at a small radio station in Vermont that sponsored a balloon in the local festival. As part of the deal the station got to give away one ride per lift off, six in total. They gave three away on air to listeners and the other three were a drawing for station employees and I won.

Now, being a manly man I couldn't very well say “I'm a scaredy cat” so I said something appropriate like “cool”. Strong silent type.

The balloons only go up at dusk or dawn and only when winds are calm. My ride was scheduled for Sunday evening, and I spent most of the weekend praying for rain!

It was a beautiful early evening, calm, sunny, perfect for hot air ballooning. I showed up at the festival with my entire family in tow to watch Daddy fly in a hot air balloon. I got into the basket while my wife took pictures, at the last second she realized; I should be the one with the camera and handed it off to me just as the balloon started to lift off. Personally, the camera was the last thing on my mind, what I really wanted was to get out and look for Toto!

The lift off was the scariest part, kind of like an elevator going up but there’s no walls. There were two other people in the basket besides me, the pilot and a man training to be a pilot, so I was privy to lots of inside information. Once we reached a cruising altitude, which is where people look like ants and the cars like matchbox toys, the trainee mentioned another balloon that was just a speck in the sky above us. The pilot said he was probably around three thousand feet but we wouldn’t be going much over one thousand. Thank you!

The view was spectacular. We cruised over a golf course; the greens, the fairways and even the sand traps looked so beautiful from above. When you are up there you don’t get a sensation of moving; it’s kind of like you are suspended from a hook in the sky and the world is turning under you.

At one point we approached the peak of a large hill and it didn’t look like we were going to clear it so the trainee asked if he should give it more heat, I voted yes! The pilot said no, the thermal updraft will lift us up and over, however, the trees got really close and the trainee looked very nervous. I, as manly as was possible, had a death grip on the side of the basket, when at the last second, sure enough we were gently lifted up and over the hill.

I then realized I hadn’t breathed in several minutes!

The pilot also showed the trainee how to go down into the river channel and skim the top of the water and go back up again; wow! Eventually it was time to descend into a farmer’s field right outside of Woodstock Vermont. The balloon’s chase team showed up and quickly had the balloon and basket stowed in the truck and we broke out the traditional bottle of champagne that is shared with whoever’s property you land on!

A breath taking journey was over and I am still deathly afraid of heights but when offered a chance to fly over the city of Ottawa Canada as part of that country’s 125th birthday celebration you better believe I jumped at the chance! This time I didn’t care where Toto was.



By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

I was a Lady of the Canyon, by Sk Waller

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I spent a large part of 1971 in an exclusive commune in the Hollywood Hills, in a mansion called Shady Oak that was owned by Peter Tork of the Monkees. This is a uniquely famous house in rock history. Earlier, it had been rented by Stephen Stills and was where Crosby Stills, Nash & Young rehearsed for their performance at Woodstock. In fact, there were two rooms off of the pool that had been their rehearsal/recording studio. The house was originally built for band director Carmen Dragon (father of “Captain” Daryl Dragon of The Captain & Tennille), and was later bought by actor Wally Cox. Peter Tork bought it from him during the Monkees’ heyday. During my stint there, I met some of rock’s greatest legends, for good or ill.

Stephen Stills, Neil Young, Greg Reeves, Dallas Taylor
And Graham Nash rehearsing in the driveway.

Funny how this picture brings back so many memories in a truly visceral way. I can tell you into what room every window opens. I remember the scent of the jasmine and honeysuckle and how the bougainvillea cascaded down from the bower bridge that led from the main house to the pool house. Peter Tork’s time at the house is now legendary for the parties he held. These were literal marathons, complete with naked celebrities and pretty girls lazing around the pool.

When I moved in the house tenant was sci-fi screenwriter Rick Strauss and his wife Simone, who was a fashion designer with Patty Woodard. Neither Rick nor Simone were famous, but they made enough to pay the $1600 rent at a time when my tiny studio in Santa Barbara, an exclusive beach town known for its high rents and old money, cost me $125. Rick also wrote for the L.A. Free Press and was known as an eccentric cross between an aging hipster and a Hollywood guru.

I remember that there was a huge hole in the bar, like someone had kicked it in. I’ve always been curious about who made that hole. Someone told me it was Jim Morrison of The Doors, but it could have been anybody.  When I recently asked Peter how it happened, he said he couldn't even remember it being there much less who did it. Such were the times. It was the 60s, remember, and the house had been a secret, gated hideaway for the crème de la crème of the world of popular music. There were some pictures on the web of Jimi Hendrix and George Harrison by the pool, but I can’t find them now.

We had a maid who came in once a week, but we were expected to pull our own weight. Bill, a tall, good looking blonde who worked at the Olde Worlde restaurant on the Strip did the cooking, Cathy, who became my friend, cleaned the Strauss’s rooms upstairs while also acting as the nanny of their baby. Diane (and who seemed oh, so glamorous to me) was a leggy brunette who was a protégée of actress Stella Stevens, did a lot of sunbathing, and a couple of guys performed jobs that pertained to the concerts that we held at Venice Beach and Griffith Park. At one of these concerts, I opened for the soon-to-be-renamed Doobie Brothers.

Because it was less than two years after the Manson murders, L.A. was still paranoid about anything that looked like a hippie commune. Suddenly, hippies weren’t just harmless, peace-loving sideshow freaks; in the canyons of Hollywood little signs began sprouting up, proclaiming security systems and very large dogs. Rick had dubbed our group, which was actually an event production collective, The Shady Oak Family. Understandably, the word ‘family’ in this context made some people apprehensive. We were always reassuring people on radio and television appearances, and in the newspapers.

The police were frequent guests, but not in the way you might think. They respected Rick because our events were well-known for being incident-free. The police chief shared bagels and lox with us on more than one Sunday morning, laughing with us at the kitchen table and, amazingly, treating us with a curious camaraderie. The L.A. Times published a huge spread on us one Sunday and, when I can get back to California, I intend to hunt it up in the library archives.

Unfortunately, the Strauss’s went bankrupt and they moved into a smaller house in Studio City that was also owned by Peter Tork. The family broke up and everyone had to move on.  I was asked to stay, but, disillusioned within the month, I left, although I still took gigs that they got me for a while.

I wrote a lot of good songs in that fabulous Laurel Canyon house—the musical vibes there were incredible. Oddly, if money were no object I’d probably want to buy it, not for the house as a real estate property, but for its history.

The Rolling Stones by the pool at Shady Oak.

Mick Taylor, Keith Richards & Mick Jagger in the solarium.

David Crosby takes a plunge into the pool. Can’t tell you how many times
I sunbathed on that board with Diane. Ah, the smell of Ban de Soliel!

Rick Strauss was not your typical commune patriarch. Sure, he taught us lessons about life (he was 60 years old and knew a great deal more about life than we did), and he used the popular spiritual texts at the time, the Bhagavad-Gita, the Tao te Ching, the Teachings of the Buddha, Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda, etc., but he saw himself mostly as a mentor, taking in talented young people and preparing them for life as well as for fame.

“You live up here on Mount Olympus. You eat what you want, drink what you want, ingest what you want, dress how you want, make love to whom you want. You are gods and goddesses and you will treat each other as such. If you want to be treated the same way when you descend into the material world, you must continue to act like gods and goddesses. You are ambassadors for a new age. Conduct yourselves accordingly.”

I’ve never forgotten that.

By Sk Waller, guest Groovy Reflections blogger  and author of "Beyond the Bridge, A Rock & Roll Trilogy". For more info click here

The Stick Shift

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

In high school in the 60's where I grew up you had to have a car. My first car was a 1961 Ford Galaxy rag top, six cylinder, automatic, complete with big ‘ol fins. If it had a keel it could have rivaled the Titanic for size and in all likelihood would've won against that iceberg! The back seat was big enough to stretch out and not touch either side, now, I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but, well that's another story entirely!

That Galaxy wasn't very fast but it was a convertible which made it more attractive to the girls. Of course, that was the reason a car was so important; couldn't very well keep necking in the back yard with a nosy little sister around. That car set me back $300 and I financed it, at $30 a month for a year, $60 interest!

A year after graduation decided that as a working man I needed a car that better fit my stature. Did a lot of searching but hadn't found anything when Dad said his friend at the Ford garage had a car there he thought I'd like. So, off we went, and it turned out to be the most beautiful piece of machinery I'd ever seen! Forest green with a white rag top, four on the floor, posi-traction and 390 cubic inches under the hood! Sold!

One little snag; I'd never driven a stick shift before but hey, how hard could it be? It was the weekend so Dad drove it home using the dealer plates until we could get it registered. So with it sitting in the driveway I could practice shifting! Yeah, right! First things first, I had had to install my new state of the art eight track player. Can’t expect a guy to go without tunes, right? Hard to look cool in a convertible without tunes!

Finally, Monday came, the car was now registered, and it was time to drive! I got in and fired it up, VROOOOM! VROOOOM! Cars just don't make THAT sound anymore. But that was back when gas was 23 cents a gallon. 

Where to go on the first drive? No question there; where the “cool car guys” hung out. The guys that lived and breathed cars; knew all about how many horsepower any given engine would put out, how to add MORE horsepower, and could strip an engine down before breakfast. Me, I knew where to put oil and gas, what a battery looked like, and was pretty sure where washer fluid was stored and what a radiator was for! But those guys knew what torque was, however as far as I was concerned he was a member of the Monkees!

So, I knew where to go; I HAD to drive by the service station where those guys hung out. It was just a little ways out of town and as I left downtown, I started to wind it up. They had to be able to hear the throaty roar of that big V-8 as I hit second gear when the roar was almost deafening. I was perfectly positioned to see their reaction without them knowing I was watching; I was the coolest of cool!

As I drew even with the service station every eye was on me, even the mechanic on the crawler, the guy that you normally only the legs of. He came out from under the car he was working on, to see the machine that was making that beautiful sound. It was time to hit third and fly on by! But perhaps I really should've practiced that one first. Missed third, shifted back into first and with screeching tires nearly stood the car on its’ front end! Then, I promptly slid as far down in the seat as I could; in fact, pretty sure I was looking under the steering wheel. Put the car back into second and if it's possible for a car to slink, I slunk away.

For years after, went out of my way to NOT drive down that road.

Finally did learn how to drive that car correctly and as much as it's possible to love an inanimate object, I loved that car. About a year later I met a woman and had to face hard reality. I could only afford one, a wife, or the 1966 Ford Fairlane GT Ragtop! That was forty years ago and while I don't regret it and wouldn't change a thing, there are days when I long for the wind in my hair and to hear that deep throat-ed VROOOOM again! Okay, truth be told, there's also days I long for hair again too! Sigh. I miss that old stick shift!



By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member www.groovyreflections.com

You Want Romantic, I'll Give You Romantic!

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

Yes. It happened. I was accused of not being romantic! Personally, I have no idea where this obvious misconception comes from. Perhaps it's the fact that I use terms such as “Valentines Day, Bah Humbug!” or my personal favorite “The only person to ever celebrate Valentines Day correctly, was Al Capone”.

Because I see one day out of the year as distasteful and the most commercialized day of the year, does not mean I'm not romantic, and I can prove it.

Every year, for 40 years now, I have remembered and celebrated the anniversary of my first date with my wife! How many guys do that? But still I hear “you’re just not romantic”! I am romantic; I tell you!

Maybe this story will convince you.....about ten years ago a friend and co-worker won a free night’s stay for two at the local Inn and didn't want to use it so offered it to me for free. I gladly accepted and thought, I'll take my wife for a romantic night out, it's 100, maybe 150 yards, from the house but it's the thought that counts right?

Okay, it was free, I know, I have to do better than that, but there's more. I scheduled it for the first week in June, which is coincidentally, when our wedding anniversary is. But I wasn't done, remember, I'm being romantic here. I also scheduled a full fancy dress dinner. Yep, suit and tie, the whole nine yards AND, I paid for the meal. How's that for romantic?

I'm not done yet. I happen to know my wife likes all things Victorian so I purchased an antique Victorian diamond ring! That's romantic, but I still wasn't done yet.

While doing some community theatre shows I had the opportunity to dine at the Inn previously, my wife had not. I was well acquainted with the innkeeper and asked her if she'd help with my romantic plan. I gave her the ring with the plan that at the end of the meal we would order dessert and she would bring the dessert with the ring as the centerpiece. Now, you gotta admit, that's romantic!

The big night was here; we checked into the Inn, went to our room and got ready for our fancy dinner! I was sure to compliment her on how beautiful she looked. We were acting like school kids and she was obviously having a great time. All was going to plan; I would end the “he's not romantic” thing once and for all!

We went down to the restaurant and were seated by the waitress, I, being a gentleman, held the chair for my wife, okay I was laying it on thick, but I was determined! The dinner was excellent. At the end of the meal the waitress came over to take our order for dessert. Having eaten there before, I told my wife “You have to have their strawberry shortcake, its fantastic”. My wife said “No thanks, I don't want dessert”.

What! “This is our special night. You have to have some dessert.” She said, “No I don't want any dessert”, in a tone that clearly meant “end of conversation”! The waitress discreetly excused herself, while I panicked and I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed my beer swallowed it in two gulps and said, “I need another beer”, then quickly got up and headed into the bar area. Fortunately this is not an unusual occurrence and my wife never wondered why I didn't wait for the waitress to come back.

Got to the bar and told the bartender “I need another beer” Hey, that's what I came in here for; got to make it believable. Oh yeah, I also said “tell the innkeeper we need to switch to plan B”. The bartender asked “What's plan B?”  I calmly replied “How the hell do I know? I came up with plan A”! I was running out of romantic here!

The Innkeeper came thru with flying colors; I went in and sat down with my drink. A few minutes later the Innkeeper herself walked in and placed a plate in front of my wife. On the plate was a large flower and in the center of the flower was...The Diamond Ring! My wife was speechless, out of the corner of my eye I could see the entire staff of the Inn peeking around the corner at my wife's tears of joy!

I still refuse to celebrate Valentines Day and you know what? People still say I'm not romantic, but, I don't care anymore, because I got to see something in my wife's eyes that night that said “Oh Yeah! He's romantic”!  And that's all I need!


By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member www.groovyreflections.com

Peas & Carrots.

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By Gerry Wendel, Groovy Reflections Founder and Team Member

Carefully, I picked out every pea from that fried rice, and expertly placed each one close to the edge of my plate; so close they were threatening to tumble onto the finely clothed table. “What are you doing?” my dining date asked. “I HATE green peas!”, was my worn out response.

Nope, it wasn’t the first time I had to explain my fussy eating habits, nor will it be the last. One could say that I was conditioned into this behavior during my childhood. Please, let me explain.

As a very young lady, my Dad simply reminded me from time to time that when he was growing up he was expected to eat all the food on his plate. And he did. Period. His parents, my grandparents, were what you’d call “old school”. You just did what you were told. But perhaps that was a good thing. In regards to food, I recall my Dad once telling me “I like everything.”

I wish that were true for me.

When I was beyond “wee lass” years, around nine or ten, the “rules” really started kicking in. Just a year or two before, our kitchen had a complete remodeling, including a fabulous naugahyde covered bench seat that perfectly fit into a corner of the kitchen, curling around two walls. It was almost like eating in a diner; in fact, that seat did come from a diner that had recently undergone renovation; another one of my Dad’s “finds” that he brought home to give a second life with us.

This bench seat was perfect for disposal of all those icky foods that I refused to put down my throat; there was just enough room in that slit of space where the back met the part our fannies rested on for a little girl’s fingers to slip those previously frozen peas, carrots, and lima beans through.

Unfortunately, it took a while to learn this trick. I first went through a period of time where I sat at the table for up to an hour after everyone else left while my step-mom washed the dishes and kept her eye on me, waiting for those not-so-tasty morsels to go down my throat.

This wasn’t good. Sitting there kept me from reading my Mad Magazines and listening to records. What to do?

Our toy poodle, Oliver, that nine pound tornado of energy, liked to eat, right? Hmmm. I tried slipping him a lima. I thought he ate it; I truly did. Slipped him another. “What ARE you doing? Don’t give the dog YOUR food!” Guess I should have been a little less obvious. That hot, sticky, summer night, I sat on the naugahyde until I was glued to it. My mistake, wearing shorts and allowing bare leg to touch it. But better than eating lima beans.

A few days later, I realized that the old seating booth was my friend after all when it transformed into a vegetable depository. Now, I was in control! I could eat what I wanted, and just make the rest go away. Never got caught.  Fussy eating habits ensued. So now, if you ever dine with me and see me picking through my food, you’ll understand why!

The Autograph

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

Many years ago I worked as a small town disc jockey at a radio station in northern New England. It was a very small station; the studio was smack in the middle of a corn field, and yes, we did the agriculture reports. My shift was from 5:30 to midnight, after which the relief shift came in.

The “relief shift” in this case was a Harley riding, earthy, feminist preacher named Agnes . Agnes was great, certainly not a stereotypical preacher, not your typical feminist and even less a stereotypical Harley rider, since she topped all of about five feet and on a good day 100 pounds. We became good friends, visiting each others homes and having cookouts (in some parts of the country also called barbeques). Agnes had two daughters, one still at home, while the other, Daphne, was in Hollywood trying to break into acting.

It seems things had been going well for Daphne and after a couple minor roles in “B” movies, she had landed a staring role in an upcoming movie. I was treated to updates on Daphne and Hollywood life in general through Agnes.

Then one day when Agnes' Harley roared into the cornfield. She came into the studio and it was plain to see something was wrong. I asked what was the matter, fearing the worst. You could tell she'd been crying and I wasn't sure if I was ready, but hey, she was a friend, and as somebody far wiser than I once said “The only way to have a friend, is to be one”, it was time “to be one”.

But even I wasn't prepared for the answer. Agnes said that Daphne's movie was premiering in Washington D.C, in two weeks and the studio wanted to fly Agnes down for the event, put her up at a five star hotel for the weekend with a limo to take her to and from the premier! Now, I don't know about you but I was having trouble figuring out the problem and said so? Agnes said “I need that weekend off from work and management said I could have it but my job won't be here when I get back and I really need my job!”

I couldn't believe it! How could what seemed a great place to work do such a thing to another employee? I couldn't let it happen; but what could I do? In the food chain I was only one step above Agnes, my demands wouldn't go any further than hers, so I did the only thing I could think of; I said “No problem”!

Gotta admit, I didn't think preachers knew those words! But when I calmed her down enough to listen to me, I explained I would simply pull double shifts for the weekend, she'd be covered, and there wasn't much management could do about it, if I didn't put in for extra pay.

You could see the light go on again in her eyes, and if I never see happy again, I know I saw it that night in that Momma/Preacher lady's eyes. Agnes asked what she could do in return. She wanted to repay me somehow, for what for me, a no brainer. I told her that when she saw her daughter to ask her to personally autograph one of those fancy studio photos for me and then when she got famous I could claim I knew her!

Well, she went and when she came back she brought me a manilla envelope and I can tell you right now that Daphne has a sense of humor! This beautiful young lady and actress, that has since gone on to a fantastic career in the movies and television, sent me an autographed photo that I still have to this very day and will cherish always. The inscription, very simply reads:

Paul,

Thanks for the wonderful weekend in Washington!

Love Daphne

I love the look on people's faces when they read that! Me, I'm a gentleman; so I smile and say nothing!

I'm happy to report that Agnes had a wonderful weekend and shortly after her return, got things in order, and did a lovely refrain of Johnny Paycheck all over management. She decided to move to Hollywood and be closer to her daughter, so she hopped on her Harley and headed out on a cross country trek that we probably all wish we could do at one time or another.

While I was sad to see her go perhaps the way she was treated by management made me look at my future, and while it was probably a year or so later and I didn't hop on a Harley and ride into the sunset, I eventually did pursue other options and moved on to other opportunities.

I never heard from Agnes again but if you've ever seen the picture of the beautiful actress Daphne Zuniga hanging on my wall, with that special dedication, now you know what it really means!

By Paul Dugan, guest Groovy Reflections blogger

The Graduate

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By Paul Dugan, Groovy Reflections Team Member

During, my senior year of high school, Dustin Hoffman was starring in his first movie.

I spent most of my free time engaged in my favorite sport, hanging out at the mall and checking out all the girls, who were busy making sure they were being checked out. It's not a complicated sport but it does have rules, however, that's for another story.

One evening, while perched on “our” bench, two of my friends mentioned they had seen the new movie The Graduate at the cinema across the parking lot and how great it was and they wanted to go see it again. Knowing full well if we left, we'd never get this prime seat back, so I was reluctant plus the movie didn't sound all that great. From what I could tell, no cities were destroyed; there was apparently no blood, I mean, what was all the hoopla?

My friends were not to be denied they begged, they pleaded, but I was firm I did not want to go, they said “we'll pay”. So, I went!

Needless to say I loved it; the best movie I'd ever seen. In fact, I was telling another friend the very same thing the next day. He said it sounded great and let's go see it. I told him I just saw it and really didn't want to go see it again. He begged, he pleaded, and he offered to pay. Again, I went, and it was just as good as the first time.

You'd think I'd learn my lesson but I never claimed to be the brightest bulb on the tree. A couple days later when I picked my steady girl up, I told her about it, you guessed it, she wanted to go. I was pretty sure she wasn't paying for this one.  While I still enjoyed the movie, it probably was more the company than the movie, I mean, three times in one week.

As happens in life our romance was not destined to be and we broke up a couple of weeks later. After allowing the heartbreak to heal an appropriate amount of time; I'm sure it was at least ten days, I asked another girl that I'd met at work out, and she accepted. When I picked her up and asked where she'd like to go......you could see this coming from a quarter mile away couldn't you? So off I went for the FOURTH time in less than a month. I'm pretty sure Dustin Hoffman owes me big time for his career.
   
Well, that relationship didn't last either and off I went to college. About a year later I'd come home for a weekend and the folks had installed one of those redwood, above ground pools, that were all the rage back then. I was doing my best Dustin Hoffman imitation, on a float in the pool with my cool shades on, when a shadow passed over me. It was Mom. She said “I want you to meet my new friend; this is Mrs. Robinson.”

I'm pretty sure I set a new speed record getting out of that pool and high tailing it back to college!  Mom was pretty upset with me for embarrassing her and to this day I couldn't tell what her friend even looked like; all I knew was, I was taking no chances.

Flash forward, 2010. I have a copy of that movie on DVD and still watch it now and then. It’s funny the different perspective I have now. When I see it, I realize that was me, I just didn't know it then. Oh, I don't mean the whole older woman thing, but the going thru the motions, not having any idea of what you were doing or where you were going in life, like you were just being pushed along by a current too strong to resist.

And my dating life? Well, eventually, I finally did have a relationship that lasted. We raised a family and have been blessed with grandchildren. I still feel the current but I aged enough to know I can move out of the middle of the stream where it's not so fast and enjoy life on the river. I'd kind of like to think maybe Benjamin finally found his way out of the middle of the river too.


By Paul Dugan, guest Groovy Reflections blogger
    

The Infamous Croquet Set, by Lorraine Friedman

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When I was 11 my mom “purchased” the greatest croquet set with her saved S&H trading stamps. It had a metal cart - beautiful (I thought) and wooden mallets with corresponding colored croquet balls (the size of large oranges). The anticipation of playing this 'unknown' game was incredible. My mom had shared photos with me of her playing this "most refined" game in the 30's - the women were dressed in lovely dresses and the men wore dress shirts and ties!

The first "Family Croquet Game" was that Memorial Day - my grandparents, my parents and I all gathered at my Aunt & Uncle's house (I had two younger girl cousins). We eagerly set up the beginning and ending pegs - and the hoops the ball had to go through in between. My Aunt had a HUGE backyard, so we spread it out. We went over the rules - and the game began.

Us younger ones had a little trouble using the mallets (which were large for us) - but once we got the hang of it, it became all out war against the grown ups. We quickly learned you were allowed but one hit per turn. However, we also learned that if your ball hits or touches an opponent's ball, you could put your foot on YOUR ball and smack the hell out of it, thus sending your opponent’s ball into oblivion.

The next holiday gathering was 4th of July and the competition got stronger as everyone wanted to use the red mallet and raced to get it. No one wanted the brown one that we referred to as 'prunes and things'; yes, it was that color brown.  And this date welcomed the addition of my 5 year old cousin as a player to be reckoned with, who was becoming quite the little croquet warrior.

The next tournament was on Labor Day, and again, the games went on all afternoon.

As I got older - when I reached the moody teenage year of 14 - we didn't seem to play as much - the grown ups kinda lost interest, so it was basically my two younger cousins and whatever adult they could drag in to play with them.

Then the once adored croquet set went into my parent's garage ... where it sat for 20 years - it then went into my garage at my own house. Since we had a large pool in our backyard, my son and his cousins weren't interested in playing croquet, choosing to swim instead. Oddly enough, they did play the dreaded dangerous dart/hoop game we had.

We now live in Tucson and my son is in Law School, and what is left of our family is on the other side of the country......but in my garage, in a large plastic container, is the once beloved croquet set, along with the metal dart game, horseshoes and Twister (remember that one?)

I don't have the heart to give it all away - so it will sit there until the day my son 'inherits" it, and perhaps it will get to be played with the family I hope he has one day.

By Lorraine Friedman, guest Groovy Reflections blogger

Tia Fina, Elvis, and me by Carmen Santiago

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I remember it well. It was June, in the summer of 1972. I was 16 years old, in high school and living in New York City. I had just gotten home from school and my mother said to me, "Tia Fina has a surprise for you." Tia Fina was my beautiful aunt. I looked at my mom and wondered, what could it be? I began to think and I remembered that Elvis was in town. Suddenly I realized what the surprise was. I knew I was going to see Elvis Presley at Madison Square Garden. My aunt had bought tickets. That was the kind of woman my aunt was. Always wanting to make others happy. Well I jumped so high and with so much enthusiasm that I landed in the next room.

I became an Elvis fan at a very young age. The first song I ever heard him sing was "Kissin Cousins". I was 9 years old and I was in love. Well, I was right. Seeing Elvis in New York City was destined to be the grooviest thing ever.

The day came, Saturday, June 10th, 1972. As I boarded the D train in the Bronx to meet my aunt at  the 59th street station, I looked at my watch and it was later than I thought. I began to worry that we would not arrive in time. My heart started beating faster in anticipation. I knew it was only a short time before I would see Elvis.

I met my aunt and we soon arrived together at Madison Square Garden. It was so exciting. I had never been there before. Elvis' name was flashing in big lights at the entrance. There was so many people! We rode the escalator to the very top and we went in. I looked down at the stage and there he was. As big as life. We had arrived late and missed the opening act, but who cared? We didn't. We just wanted to see Elvis and we did arrive just in time to see his entire performance.

He was wearing a white beaded jumpsuit with a long gold scarf around his neck. The music began to play and he began to sing, "That's Alright Mama." I felt as if I was floating. It was a dream come true. I could not hear anything other than the music and his voice. He sang so many songs that night, "Polk Salad Annie", "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me", "Proud Mary". He was so handsome and so talented. I spent the rest of the evening with a smile on my face, just enjoying this great man and his wonderful music. It is one of those very fond memories I have of growing up. I will never forget where I was or what I was doing on Saturday, June 10, 1972.

Thank you Tia Fina, for all you did not just for me, but for everyone. Love is an action word and you were full of action. I miss you so much. Thank you Elvis for your music and your films and your smile. I miss you too very much . The world is a better place because of the both of you!



Written by Carmen Santiago, Guest Groovy Reflections Blogger