Free Lovin' Hippies

We went to Mad Anthony's on Friday night, which is a local restaurant within walking distance of our house that we just love. Every Friday evening is open mic. night and since we were there eating a bit late, we decided to sit for a spell. The performers are mostly guys with acoustic guitars ranging from old country singers to young, tortured, artists. It's always interesting. But last Friday was special.

We watched an older guy go up to the host of open mic. night, Josh, and introduce himself. "A new guy," I thought to myself. I quickly sized him up. He was in his 50's, wearing jeans, a plain green T-shirt, a pair of hiking-type tennis shoes, and he was completely bald. He had sort of a soft, gentle demeanor. Now he could have gone several ways with his music - BUT - I said to Brian, "Look at that guy. He's a hippie." I could just sniff it out.

For those of you that don't know, I am hippie obsessed. Very few things tickle me more than seeing a hippie, speaking with a hippie, watching a hippie exhibit hippy behavior, etc... And I like running into former hippies, you've probably all known a few of these in your life, cleaned up but still clinging to their earthy ideals. I really think I was born in the wrong era. I long for the simple life of a hippie. Someday I'll find a little plot of land on this earth...and I will live off of it, and love. Someday.

So, the small man sits down with his guitar. I wait with great expectation to hear the first strains of music. Will my instinct be on the money? For his first song he plays a haunting rendition of Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd. Hmmm, definitely not country but does not yet confirm his hippie-hood. Then it happens. He announces his second song. In his soothing voice he says, "This is a song I wrote. I call it My Treehugger Song." !!!!! Brian knew at that moment never to question my intuition again. And, oh, the song was all the hippie glory that one might expect. The chorus talked about us keeping the earth for our grandchildren's, grandchildren's, grandchildren. It talked about how we were poisoning the water and might end up living in bubbles. It was written in a minor key and was complete with Native American chanting. (Heeeey, ha, ha, ha.) It was a glorious moment for me.

He then sang a rendition of Fire and Rain by James Taylor that made me misty eyed.

Small hippie man, thank you. Thank you so much.