After Woodstock

So this is the sort of place that the Woodstock Generation has to look forward to. Some of them are here already (myself included) but mostly it’s filled with the beat generation. There are lots of guys with pony tails and walkers, and women who must have one sat and listened to beat poets in coffee houses.

But the Woodstockians are arriving. Yesterday, a woman came by ambulance wearing love beads and a tie-dyed tee shirt.

The battle over Viet-nam rears up every so often in the waiting-for-meds room. The vets wear their vet hats proudly. The former hippies let their freak flags fly, if they have any hair left to catch the wind.

Once in a while, a fight breaks out over which cable news channel to have on in the dispensary room, and it got to the point where staff taped cardboard sign over the channels saying: DO NOT TOUCH CHANNELS. And it has been set to channel 7 (ABC) ever since.

Which means that Good Morning America is on each morning. I wonder if anyone remembers who originally wrote that line. Good morning, America how are you? Don’t you know me, I’m your native son…

I don’t have any narrative to tell, but one is forming slowly. Right now I want to do some research into Alzheimer’s disease. When it was named, and what the stats are on it.

I realize that I’m in the epicenter of the epidemic, but I can’t believe it was always like this, unless it’s due to people living longer. Does it vary by country? Does it vary by era? By diet?

That sort of thing seems interesting to me right now.

So have a groovy day.

Published by Dave

My name is David Beckerman. I am a fine art photographer working in New York City. Or I was before I had two strokes. I now write from a Nursing Home.

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