There’s a lot of hullabaloo regarding marijuana these days. I have never smoked it, because I don’t like smoke in my lungs nor do I like the odor of marijuana.
When I resided in San Francisco (September-December 1968), my roommate, Elsa, loved to host parties for her friends in our studio apartment. Lots of wine and rock music were the norm. I remember seeing her and her guests sitting in a circle on the floor, passing a joint around. I sat on the sofa, declining to participate. I always felt like an outsider back then.
Because of the hippies with their filthy long hair and love beads hanging from their filthy necks and the presence of marijuana and LSD at the parties I attended, I disliked living in San Francisco. It was such a horrible place to live, and I have not changed my mind. You can’t pay me to live there again. Filthy people, filthy city.
On the other hand, I liked this oil painting of Golden Gate Bridge so much that I bought it in 2015 from my friend, Suzanne, who is an artist in Hawaii. Isn’t it lovely? I love her attention to detail:
And, here is David, posing in front of Alcatraz Island Prison in San Francisco Bay in 2016:
I guess San Francisco is a nice city to visit, but I certainly did not “leave my heart” back there in 1968. Hawaii is so much better. I would rather live here than there any day.