US Automakers Killed The Electric Car, Will US EPA Drive Green Car Technology Out of America on Their Behalf?

For those just getting to know me, I am a bit of a political junkie, a green eco-friendly environmental activist who has an interest in electric cars. That reality, my interests in things green has seen me write various articles on environmental issues. Below is one I wrote back in March when the US EPA turned down California's plans to have tighter emissions standards than the national standards. If you have been following the Presidential Elections this year, this article is a timely piece, and hopefully we can see some lively debate in the comments section below, or not. Either way, enjoy the read, and hopefully it will get you to think.

The US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) turned its back on California and the citizens of America when they formally denied California the right to control and regulate greenhouse-gas emissions from the states millions of vehicles. The US EPA finalized its rejection of the requested waiver, thus opening the door for Green Car Technologies to move to proverbial greener pastures, bringing their products (and technology) to market in countries with stronger policies that set far stricter standards for greenhouse-gas emissions.

California's waiver if granted would have seen the state reduce tail pipe emissions on every vehicle by 30 percent by the year 2016. Eighteen other states were standing in line to file for similar waivers once the state of California's waiver had been granted.The villain in this sad tale of caving in to the Auto Industry Titans is EPA Administrator Stephen Johnson. Johnson had stated he would deny the waiver in December, which outraged almost everyone involved.

His announcement sparked another lawsuit from California, Congressional hearings and an angry letter from 19 union presidents representing more than 10,000 EPA employees who were in support of granting the waiver according to The Los Angeles Times. EPA staff members in recommending granting of the waiver had stated in a memo there was "no legal or technical justification" for the agency to deny it. One has to wonder, who bought off Stephen Johnson or his superiors? The document denying the waiver held firm in the false belief that global warming isn't local in nature or scope, and California's conditions aren't "compelling and extraordinary" enough to justify a waiver (see Associated Press story). No melting icebergs in your state, no waiver?

This kind of idiot Federal Agency decision made to protect Corporate interests rather than protect the environment are going to push green technology companies to abandon their financial goals and plans here in America for greener pastures, and in doing so leave America behind in the race for green technology. Despite a bill passed in December that raises fuel economy standards (in the year 2021), America is falling further and further behind other nations in leading the green charge to reduce Global Warming and build a world Green Economy.

The United States and our Green Entrepreneurs have the dreams and desires to lead the world in going green with no better example in the Green Car parade than Tesla and their Roadster. The company has three models now, and rumor has it they are in negotiations with the Big Detroit Automakers to quickly bring economy of scale to their designs. (Look for a public stock offering in Tesla in the next 18 months.)

Allowing California and other states their right to manage and regulate greenhouse gas emissions would be a huge step forward in mainstreaming companies such as Tesla. Conversely, the US EPA's decision could see Tesla and other companies bolt to Europe where stricter standards make marketing of their cars a more attractive option.

If America is going to lead the Green Wave, is going to be the Green Technology leader in the world, our politicians and Federal Agencies charged with protecting our environment need to change their ways. The world we leave our children depends on it.

Another of My Drabbles, "Traveling Towards Destiny"

Life, from beginning to end is a sometimes precarious, exhilarating, splendid, melancholy, even bittersweet but always exciting and unique journey down the river of time into the Ocean of Forever.

At times our raft is tumbled through rough rushing waves, our boney white fingers desperately clinging to its side as we fear being tossed into the dark depths of the churning tide. At others the calm waters have our raft aimlessly drifting, we hoping, sometimes praying for a breeze to hurry us along.

Life is a inescapable divine journey we each take, the traveling far more important than the destination.

A 100 Word Story Challenge-Destiny of A Snowman

I remember my day of creation, white swirling flakes, squealing laughter, mitten covered hands bringing life. Smells of hot chocolate and cookies as pictures were taken for a photo album yet to be.

That night my charcoal eyes stood sentry as snow continued to fall, my two stick arms precarious, hanging on as the wind rattled the window panes off behind my back. The next day brought blue skies, spring's first divine rays of sun beating down upon the felt hat perched on my head.

Soon I would be just another memory of a day spent playing in the snow.

Passing Through O'Doul's

This is another slant on the same first sentence challenge wherein you are given the first sentence, and then write your story from there...again, enjoy the read.

"Pour it up, Maggie – black and hot" yelled Sam as he pushed through the door.

O'Doul's Diner was open late on this dark night as a driving Nor'easter blanketed the land, more than a foot of snow already on the ground. There was no sense closing as there was no place to go, the only people out on the road the State Troopers, and of course Sam who ran the snow plow and put down salt. If you were local and snow was flying you could count on finding Maggie behind the old weathered Formica counter-top, its turquoise hue faded almost white with age, her husband Jed sitting in his rocker over in the corner poking logs in the woodstove that gave the place its cozy glow.

Sam stamped the snow off his boots, dusted off his heavy tan canvas hunting jacket as he reached for a hanger and took off his weathered John Deere baseball cap, the same one he'd worn going on 20 years. He was wearing a flannel shirt, and his silver buckle, large as a cake plate, held up blue jeans that were a dull worn blue from years spent out in the fields. I watched as he walked over and got his coffee from Maggie, smiled as he ordered up a large stack of cakes.

Maggie's coffee was always piping hot, but Sam drank it straight down then briefly admired the fine old bone china cup. "Maggie, can you hit me again?"

Alone over in the corner I watched all this, no one paying me any mind. O'Doul's had opened up just after the Second World War, a relic from days so long ago past. Some of the checker board tablecloths were worn and frayed, but no one seemed to mind. You could still order root beer on tap, and the milkshakes were legendary in these parts, still made with three full scoops of their trademark Hershey's Genuine Ice Cream as proudly proclaimed on the rusted old sign hanging outside next to the Beechnut Chewing Tobacco temperature gauge that let everyone inside know it was 3 degrees above zero on the other side of the large frosted windows, two of them cracked back in 1957 when the tornado had blown through.

I'd been coming to O'Doul's for years, my seat over in the back corner always waiting for me as I knew it would be. Sam grabbed his second cup of coffee and headed over to the woodstove to warm his large calloused hands and have a word with Jed.

At almost 96 Jed was spry for his age, standing up with the help of his cane he reached out as he always did offering Sam a chair

"Here, come on and have a seat, the fires just right."

"Thanks Jed, don't mind if I do. How's that new hip of yours doing?"

"Fine, fine…now don't you start going on about my hip, I can still out work a man half my age." That statement was almost true.

Jed and Sam went way back, and before that Jed and Sam's father had been friends since they were kids. Jed and Maggie had opened the place just after the war, and three weeks after the doors had opened Rusty had come in with his beautiful wife Rosemary who was carrying their brand new baby boy. Jed had fallen in love with the kid on the spot and they had been friends ever since, becoming closer after Sam's father had passed away.

Maggie brought over a large oval platter, three buckwheat pancakes stacked one on top of the other, succulent fresh butter, hand churned the day before, dripping off the edges, three farm fresh eggs and two sausage links tucked in on the side

"You eat up now, tonight's going to be a long one, and bring your thermos over to the counter-top before you leave so I can fill it up and give you a couple sandwiches for the road." That was Maggie that was O'Doul's.

As Sam ate Jed got out the checkers and started setting up the board. The two of them would play a couple quick games, maybe light up their pipes before it was time to go. I watched as the plate of pancakes was devoured, smiled as Maggie refilled his coffee cup one last time. I smiled as Jed let him win the last checker game as he'd always done since Sam was three years old.

It would not be long now, and as I'd done so many times before I raised myself from the booth and floated through the wall. Tonight was Sam's night; he would not be making it home. I needed to be out by the bend in the road, be there with him after the crash with the State Trooper who would lose control of his cruiser in the deep wintry snow. Sometimes I think of retiring, but then what would I do, and besides, an angels work is never through.

A Romance Story in Diner..."The Courtship"

Again, a first line story compilation...was given the first line, and took it from there, so kick back and enjoy this short read.

The Courtship

"Pour it up, Maggie - black and hot," yelled Sam as he pushed through the door.

Sam at 47 was predictable, his life very patterned and organized. He would look at the menu, then order the Salisbury steak, side of mashed potatoes with extra gravy as he always did, finish it all off with a second cup of coffee and a piece of coconut cream pie. Maggie always waited on him, knew she could count on his tip being more than generous, a crisp ten dollar bill covering the $6.23 check.

Maggie had taken the job at the truck stop after her husband died, and 10 years later was the shift manager, salary and tips bringing in just enough to keep food on the table for her and her two kids, make the mortgage payment on the double-wide trailer perched on ten acres off of State Route 13. Her strawberry blond hair was now streaked with gray, her emerald green eyes carried a scent of sadness over things that could have been.

She'd followed Danny over from Ireland years ago when he'd landed a job working steel in Kansas City. Weekdays he'd head off down Route 80 the 235 miles into the big city while she stayed home doing chores, growing vegetables in the garden they had planted, milking the family cow Betsy that they'd bought off the farmer just down the road. Life had been different then, weekends spent entwined in Danny's arms, the birth of their first child Amy, and soon after another on the way.

Maggie would never forget the Sheriff's car pulling into the dirt lane that lead up to the trailer her and Danny had bought six months prior when his boss had given him a raise, made him foreman of a crew. She knew before the knock on the door that Danny would not be coming home, that life had changed, that their children would never really know the beautiful man their father had been. She wanted to grieve, but circumstances would not allow that luxury, so four months pregnant she'd driven down to the local truck stop looking for a job.

Sam looked up as Maggie arrived, smiled as she poured him a cup of coffee, setting both cream and sugar down on the counter, presenting him with a menu she'd tucked under her arm.

"I'll be right back"

"Take your time, not sure what I am in the mood for today."

Sam watched as she walked away, admired her perhaps more than he should, that twinge of guilt bringing him back to his senses as he opened the menu to have a look inside.

He was a widow, his wife dying giving birth to their only son. They were going to name his Sam Junior, but in honor of Sandy's father he settled on Jonathan instead. Life as a single father had not been easy, driving a truck for the local gravel company all these years. To often getting home later than he would have liked because the overtime allowed him to put away for his son's college education always left him feeling guilty, afraid he was shirking his duties in taking care of his wife's legacy, their Jonathon.

"You ready to order Sam?"

Maggie's voice intruded in on his thoughts, startled him into speech.

"Sure, the Salisbury steak sounds good today, and can you save me a piece of coconut cream pie?"

"That's what I like about you Sam, no surprises, always dependable."

She gave him one of her smiles and turned away, Sam grateful that she could not see the blush creeping across his cheeks.

Jonathon was in his second year at college, the small house empty and alone except on Holidays when his son would return for a day or two before heading off to Topeka to spend the rest of his vacation time with his new girlfriend, sleeping on the sofa at her parent's house. Perhaps it was this loneliness, the silence that changed the way he felt about Maggie, stirred in him feelings he'd buried so long ago.

Maggie laid on an extra slice of meat as she always did, added a second scoop of mashed potatoes to Sam's plate, covering both with plenty of the brown drip gravy she knew he liked. He was a good man, one that Danny would approve of, if only he would ask her out. Setting aside a large piece of coconut cream pie she hustled over to the counter will the plate was still piping hot.

"Here you go Sam, just the way you like it."

"Looks perfect, you really spoil me you know."

Maggie gave him one of those smiles again, smiled inside as she saw him blush.

"I'll be back in a bit with your pie. Enjoy your meal."

Sam again watched as she walked away, smiled as he picked up his fork.

Poking the mashed potatoes, swirling them in the generous pool of gravy he smiled to himself realizing the time had come to ask her out.

Beginnings-A Start To Another Unfinished Story

I have a bad habit of starting stories late in the night that never get picked up again, never quite materialize into a full and completed work. This is one such beginning.

Distant Destiny

Distant destinies
Awakening dreams
As heaven's drums
Rumble in the night

Lighting fills the sky
Storm clouds on the horizon
Limbs bending to the wind
As demons start to howl

Chapter One-Meeting of Minds

It was just after 10 PM, my favorite Clint Eastwood Movie, "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" flickering on the big screen as lightening raced across the foreboding slate gray sky, not a star in sight. Hitting pause on my remote, I went into the kitchen for a snack when there was a gentle, persistent tapping at my front door. Who would be out on a night like this, what mischief was afoot? Lighting a Marlboro, the flame flickering in the darkened entry hall I peeked through the first of the two doors.

Standing on my porch was a robed figure, perhaps 5'10". I was about to pretend sleep, avoid answering the door, call 911 when I heard a soft whispering voice, as if the words had filtered telepathically to where I stood, penetrating my mind.

"Please, let me in, I am in grave danger" came the female voice."

As if reading my thoughts (who are you?), the robed figure produced a small glimmering globe from out of the mists, and pushing the cloak's hood back revealed the most beautiful angelic creature I'd ever seen. Even on this stormy night, darkness enveloping the world I could see her iceberg blue eyes, shimmering almost translucent hair framing delicate pale cheek bones.

"Please, you must hurry, let me in I beseech you."

I knew better than to put the porch light on, quickly opening up first one, then the second door, moving too the side as this other worldly vision stepped in from the storm, thunder booming off in the distance.

"Quickly, lock the doors, turn off your movie, and whatever you do, don't answer the door. I shall protect us until they have stopped searching."

Obeying her order I quickly locked the front door throwing the dead bolt, then stepping back into the entry hall locking the second door as I had done the first. As I turned to face her I knew instinctively that my mundane ordinary life had forever changed, that the heavens had brought this mystical creature to my doorstep on this fateful night for a reason.

"Let me take your cloak, can I get you something warm to drink?"

"Tea please, and do you have a blanket? First though turn off the television, it will attract their attention."

There was no need to speak, I just nodded, pushed the button on my remote and headed up the stairs to the second floor guest room for some blankets before heating water for her tea. Who was she, where had she come from, and why was she being hunted on a dark stormy night?

Heading back down the stairs I paused; she had disappeared from the entry hall, her voice again intruding into my mind.

"I'm in here."

Carrying the blanket into the living room I saw her gracefully lounged on the small brocade love seat sofa, the shades drawn down, she peeking through the small crack between the window frame and the curtains. Without moving, not so much as acknowledging my presence she reached out to my mind.

"Please cover me; I am chilled from traveling in this weather."

Not knowing or understanding why I obeyed her silent request. As I laid the second quilt over her gracefully slender form her delicate hand snaked out, her finger ever so gently touching my cheek.

"Thank you for your kindness."

Emotions overwhelmed my senses, her touch sending a sad bittersweet wave of images coursing through me, tears welling in my eyes as a decadent, almost sinful melancholy joy washed over me. Visions raced through my mind of places I had never seen yet somehow knew. Her eyes watched, then smiling sadly she brushed away a tear as it rolled down my cheek.

"Off with you, I really do need that tea, and then we can talk."

Unsteady, my entire body trembling from her brief touch I staggered from the room to obey her command. Who was she, where had she come from, and why did I seem to recognize images I'd never seen? Reaching for the kettle I heard the doorbell ring, my heart racing as I heard her voice speaking without a word. I made a move to go to her, sensing a need to protect her even at the cost of my own life.

"Stay in the kitchen, they don't know that I am here. We are safe for now. I'll have some Earl Gray a lemon slice and a healthy dollop of honey."

Again and again the doorbell rang, my hand shaking as I turned on the faucet, put water on to boil. As I reached for a cup whoever was outside began rattling the door, a deep dark bellowing voice screaming over the storm, "If you are home open this door immediately, we command you to obey."

The rattling soon was replaced with fists beating, the door's frame groaning at the assault, "We are the gate keepers, sworn to protect and serve he who rules the earths and rides the sky."

"Ignore them; they are Lord Norwich's henchmen, here to send me to the same fate my father met this very night. You must trust me, they will leave us soon enough as it has been written, and then we will make our escape. Now please, do bring me tea so that I might gain strength for the journey ahead."

Henchmen, Lord Norwich, fate, our escape...what mystery and intrigue waited me? I was confused, shaken and yet there was acceptance I would travel with her, resigned to what fate had chosen for me. As I steeped her tea the banging subsided then stopped just as she had predicted. Though not asked for, I sliced some smoked cheeses, pared some apples and put a large chunk of ham left over from Christmas on a plate assuming she must be hungry. Placing everything on a tray I returned to the living room to find her sitting up watching me as I entered the room, the coffee table pulled over beside her awaiting the tray I had prepared.

"Please, sit beside me. I do so dislike dining alone, besides, we must talk while we have time."

Timidly setting the tray down, lowering myself onto the love seat beside her I stared into her eyes unable to break her hold on me. Her hand seemed to magically appear, gently stroking my cheek as again my tears began to flow, the visions again flashing before my mind.

"Who are you?"

"Stephen, this night, our meeting was destined, foretold long ago by the ancient elders long before either of us were born. Our future, the perilous escape we must make written in the stars. Let us eat, then we shall sleep as one and I shall come to you in your dreams so that you might know the fore telling of things yet to be."

Her second hand joining her first she leaned in kissing my tears away, her lips melting away resistance, as the images continued raining in upon my soul. I tried to speak; her finger touching my lips, instructing me not to speak.

"Could you please hand me some tea, slice us some cheese. You will need your energy come the dawn's first light."

We ate in silence, she watching as I sliced cheese, handed her chunks of apple, and laid thick slabs of ham on sourdough bread. When empty I filled her cup without being asked, watched her as she watched me, each of us alone in our thoughts. The food gone, her tea cup empty with none left to pour I stood up to clear away the tray.

"Can I get you anything, more tea perhaps?"
"No, we must rest and be gone before the break of dawn."
"But how, why and where is it we are going?"

"Soon enough you shall have the answers you seek. Carry the dishes into the kitchen, and then we shall retire upstairs. After you have drawn me a bath, I would like you to prepare fresh linens for our bed, light some candles so we might speak."

I moved off to the kitchen setting the tray down on the counter. The clock on the stove let me know it was 11:50 PM...not sure why I noticed the clock, took note that it was exactly ten minutes before midnight. Before I could give time to my thoughts again her voice found my mind.

"Come, the hour grows late."
As I came into the entry hall she was there waiting, the globe from the porch again in her hand.
"Tonight is ours, it has been written."

She lead me up the stairs, stopping briefly on the second floor landing, moving down the hall and opening the door to the attic never used. Squeezing my hand as she let go I again heard her unspoken voice.

"I must make proper preparations for your awakening. Wait right here until I call for you."

She ascended the steps, the small globe lighting her way, then vanished as she reached the top stair, made the turn into the cavernous space up in the eaves. I stood at the bottom stair afraid to breath as a gentle strumming vibration filtered down from above...stood frozen as a soft bluish green light grew brighter. The hallway began changing, bare aged plank steps suddenly covered in hand woven lush turquoise runners, the worn crown molding gilded in gold, marbled Italian plaster in deep lush emerald green, burgundy and ocher covering bare exposed lathing. Rich tapestries appeared as the smell of frankincense filled the air.

"You may come up to draw my bath."

Drive Safely Folks...A First Sentence Challenge..."Joseph's Lament"

"Who are you calling 'Over The Hill,' buster?"

I liked George, he had a quick wit, and for a kid a good work ethic, always the first one on my crew to volunteer for the tough jobs like digging a ditch, or unloading the eighty pound bags of tar patch we used in filling potholes.

Delia was up front standing with a group of friends, her long brunette hair in a braid halfway down her back.

I'd known her for quite some time, an acquaintance from work. She took care of Dispatch for the Highway Patrol, occasionally calling us with a request to put down salt, or to deal with limbs blown onto roadways during a storm.

I'd introduced her to George almost two years before. She'd lost her first husband to a roadside bomb, and George's brother had died at the hands of a sniper in Afghanistan. Should have known better than to play matchmaker, minded my own business, but being me I'd invited the both of them to my annual crew Bar BQ. They became instant friends, by the end of the evening were sitting together on my porch swing watching the stars, whispering in hushed tones about shared pains most could not really understand.

Six months later sharing a beer at Farley's, George had confided his love for her, asked if I would help him pick out a ring. Two weeks later they were engaged, plans already in the works for a spring wedding.

Nine months from the day they said, "I do" they'd given birth to Heather, the apple of her father's eye, the gift of life healing wounds as this loving couple blossomed right before our eyes. Delia invited my wife Rosemary and I over for dinner one Saturday night. Over pecan pie and coffee in the living room we were asked to be God Parents.

Two days ago, rain turning to snow had made the roads a slippery, treacherous mess. We'd been called out to remove a fallen tree. As he always did, George had grabbed the chain saw.

"Get out of the way old man."

Collateral Damage

Again another drabble...the title perhaps could have been, "War is Hell" but, "Collateral Damage" seemed more appropriate.

The photo made me smile, Samuel asleep, nestled against my shoulder. I entertained guests, smiled at well wishers celebrating our magical day.

He'd been on a plane 39 hours, layovers in seven cities, getting home just in time for our wedding. I was thankful having him close; thankful he was there to say "I do."

Putting the album down, I felt the baby kicking inside me, tears welling in my eyes. The carefully folded flag on the mantel reminding me Samuel had not been so lucky on his third tour in Iraq would not be home for Sammy Junior's birth.

On Finding Out-Words Not Spoken

This is a drabble written about learning my wife has breast cancer.

The seconds ticked ominously slow, the minute hand inching forward at a snail's pace as I waited, thumbing through a magazine the fourth time through.

I'd seen the receptionist three times, assured my wife was fine; things were just taking a bit longer than usual, asking, "Would you like something to drink, another cup of coffee?"

"No thank you just worried."

"Everything will be fine."

I heard the door, looked at my wife's face and knew, my eyes welling up as a sob escaped my lips.

No one spoke, her face told all, the woman I love has breast cancer.

"Doctor Doolittle-I Can Talk To The Animals!"

"Pardon me sir; do you have any Grey Poupon?"

Normally, a zebra poking his head into my car would have gotten my attention, but a talking Zebra! I was beside myself with wonder and surprise, knew this event would change my life.

"No, I don't have any Grey Poupon, but if you follow me to the 7 Eleven down the street, I would be happy to get you some if you like?"

"Thank you sir, it would be greatly appreciated."

The light changed from red to green, and I slowly moved down the street, the talking Zebra trotting along behind.

Spring Break

Once upon a time I believed in fairy tales, thought I would grow up, find my prince and live happily ever after. Much like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, that belief has vanished into the mists, along with the naïve thought that life is fair. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter, life is what it is, and we all must play the cards we are dealt, though at times I wish I could have a different hand.

It's raining today, the droplets sliding down the old weathered panes of the window as I stare out at the street below. There is a Starbucks on the corner, people dashing in as their umbrellas get caught in the door, and the drug store in the middle of the block seems busy as it always is. I watch, journal my thoughts as I ponder a reality I cannot change, wonder at what might have been.

Suppose I should explain my isolated life, the loneliness that comes from being a prisoner in my own little world, only my cat Scruffy to keep me company except on weekends when Mom and Dad come by to say hello...that is not exactly true, I do have my nurse, and twice a week an old German woman comes in to tidy my apartment, change the sheets and take care of any shopping I need done, but I don't count them, resent them on days when everything becomes to much.

Two years ago, a second year law student at NYU I was going home for spring break, my boyfriend and I planning on letting our parents know of our recent engagement. Our old Subaru was packed with six pillow cases of laundry, our laptops, couple of pillows and a cooler full of goodies to eat along the way. Rob had carefully mapped out our schedule; we would leave right after my evening class and drive through the night arriving early the next day. Right on schedule he arrived on campus just in time to pick me up. With a quick kiss we were back in the car and on our way, anxious to get on the road.

As we left campus I gave Mom a quick call on my cell phone, letting her know our trip home had begun. I was ringing Rob's sister as we approached the green light, and that is the last real memory I have of the moment that forever changed my life, perhaps in some ways stealing it away from me.

It was a month before I came out of my coma, opening my eyes to see Dad sitting in a chair beside my hospital bed, his hand clutching mine.

"Where am I?"

"Your in Mount Sinai Hospital Cathy, everything is going to be fine."

"Where's Rob, is he OK?"

Dad did not speak, tears welling up in his eyes.

I heard Mom speak up, "We're sorry sweetheart, he didn't make it, was killed instantly in the crash."

It was at that moment as I tried to sit up in shock that I realized I could not move, was paralyzed from the waist down.

My name is Cathy, I am a paraplegic because someone thought they could drink and drive. My life is not over, but it has been forever changed. I hope in sharing this story, in sharing my own pain that someone will think twice before they believe they too can drink and get behind the wheel of a car.

Odd Political Musings on Presidential Election 2008

Presidential Candidates-How Some of Us See Your World Through Our Electric Light Moon Glasses

Ride captain ride upon your mystery ship...one of thousands of song snippets that filter through my mind as memories collide one with another fighting for a stolen moment, once again to be in the limelight as part of a story shared, tales of youth being told around a campfire, or perhaps over beers as we wait our turn at the dart board. Oh to know what I know now and go back again and start all over...youth is wasted on the youth until the young grow old and look back on the remarkable lives we lived so many years before.

Free spirits, that's what we were, the original Indigo Kids before someone coined the term, Bohemians in training without a clue that we were in school. We knew we were different early on, sitting upstairs in the attic bedroom, black light posters of Santana and Hendrix lighting up the night, Janis wailing sullenly because our parents had gone out with friends; would not be back home until around one in the AM. Remember Uriah Heep, King Crimson's Court of the Crimson King, a nickel bag four fingers tall costing you five bucks, and a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry wine was a dollar ninety eight.

Midnight saw us leaving a note on the kitchen table telling Mom and Dad we'd gone over too Johnny's house, we'd stop by his home on the way to the dam to leave a note saying he was at Tim's place so that no one would worry about where we'd gone. A Panasonic eight track, our music, party supplies and a dime with which to call home and we were ready to go, thinking nothing of the 12 mile bike ride that laid ahead.

The girls usually drove, would have a camp fire burning when we arrived, had the foresight to bring foodstuffs, and some towels for drying off after everyone went skinny dipping in the cold pool that had been dug over a hundred years down at the base of the dam.

The police knew we were there and left us alone knowing we weren't out to cause trouble were not hurting anyone with our small fire, in taking a swim. Occasionally they'd stop by to check up on us, their flashlights giving their presence away long before they arrived. We'd turn the music down, sometimes cover up and then wave as they came into sight.

"Everything all right?"

"Yes officer, just enjoying the stars, and taking a swim."

"You kids behave yourselves, we have to get back to our rounds."

"Good night officers."

Live and let live. They knew what we were doing, knew we had bottles of Boone's Farm that had been hastily pushed under the closest blanket, that our joints had been quickly hidden out of sight. We wrote poetry and talked about peace, love and cosmic revelations we'd had while listening to the Moody Blues while tripping on acid or coming down into mellow land as we took another Quaalude...how many remember 714's or Christmas Trees. The Dead Poets Society long before Robin Williams became a household name.

No one saw us as college material, though in certain subjects we all were at the top of our class. I took the SAT one Saturday morning while peaking, mesmerized at my perfectly sharpened fist full of brand new number two pencils, most of them less than 4 inches in length from a overnight sharpening vigil while listening to Helter Skelter and the rest of the White Album, smoking Blond Lebanese Hash provided by my friends...I know what you are thinking, but I ended up ranking in the upper five percentile nationwide.

Planet earth is through and there's nothing we can do...God, looking back it seems strange to realize we made that first Earth Day happen, created the Ecology flag, and now some 30 years later the world is just waking up to the reality of Global Warming. As the Moody Blues would say or was that Pink Floyd?... "Is there anybody out there, out there." We wore old faded blue jeans, patches sewn over patches, each one with a special meaning to those who were in the know. We were a world within a world, a perfect utopian dream breathed into life by a few souls who happened to believe there was a better way to make it in this world.

Tricky Dick ran for a second term, we tried to warn everyone to, "Just Say No". I still remember the campaign slogan our parents would wince at, "Don't change dicks in the middle of a screw, vote for Nixon in 72." We wanted to plug into the system, acted as volunteers for George McGovern, actually believing he had a chance. Watergate proved us right, but no one seemed to care. Perhaps that singular event changed us more than we could ever know, in McGovern's defeat, watching as Nixon resigned in shame disenfranchised us, made us in some ways the lost generation, the young Boomers that never quite figured out how to fit in and become a part of the system, figure out how to mainstream the ideas we'd had in our dreams.

It's odd all these years later to see mainstream journalists writing articles with titles like, "The Hippy's Were Right After All". Our dreams, our visions now being touted as the Green Economy, Al Gore winning a Nobel Peace prize about something we had written poems about decades before, but then let's not forget he invented the internet too. Who knows, maybe he is one of us, and old stoner that learned how to fit in...if you think about it, Tipper looks like she's rolled a few, spent a few nights sitting around the campfire joined in song as someone played a guitar or shook a tambourine. "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man play a song for me"...losing track of the lyrics we'd end up singing about Mr. Bo Jangles and slide right into a rousing rendition of Arlo Guthrie's, "City of New Orleans" that was originally done by Steve Goodman.

40 years after I smoked my first joint, rolled up a big old dubbie and took a puff people are still being imprisoned for smoking and selling pot, a whole generation shamed into keeping their stories of youth hidden away. Legalize the stuff and get over yourselves already. Is there anyone that really believes smoking pot is any different than sitting around in some bar slamming down Martini's with exotic names at ten dollars a piece and then getting in your imported car to drive home drunk and take care of the kids...can any one spell H Y P O C R I T E ? The more life changes the more it stays the same, close friends suggesting maybe I should cut my hair and dress my age. Here's a clue, throw away your cell phones, and stop buying your children games that teach them to kill, instill in them a belief that human life is expendable. PEACE MAN, and KEEP THE FAITH.

Hillary Clinton's book, "It Takes A Village" was met with rave reviews, yet our attempts at communal living were always shut down, usually with the police using some level of force to chase us off our land and out of town. We grew up, got older, and many of our numbers headed in a different direction becoming the Yuppies that drove the 80's and 90's generation of self satisfaction and loathing, giving birth to children they could put on Ritalin to keep them from being who they are.

First Man: I think, I think I am, therefore I am, I think.

Establishment: Of course you are my bright little star,
I've miles
And miles
Of files
Pretty files of your forefather's fruit
and now to suit our great computer,
You're magnetic ink.

First Man: I'm more than that, I know I am, at least, I think I must be.

Inner Man: There you go man, keep as cool as you can.
Face piles
And piles
Of trials
With smiles.
It riles them to believe
that you perceive
the web they weave
And keep on thinking free.

For those wondering, Moody Blues lyrics from, "In The Beginning".

People think I am boasting when I say our generation lived through the greatest period the music industry has ever known, but it is true. We had our parents music from the 50's, and the cross over stars like James Brown, the whole Motown Sound, and lets not forget what changed the world, that old time Rock and Roll. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, and Roy Orbison teaching us about love gone bad. As the Vietnam War was ending, stars like the O Jay's began to change and the times changed with them. When a man loves a woman...sing it Percy.

The lost generation, yet we have been here all along. We are the grassroots that has been there quietly preaching our message, taking up causes that no one else had time for, or chose to ignore. We were the dream walkers to stubborn to walk away. Indigo children, hippy freaks, tree hugging fools...pick your label, we've been them all and a few that have yet to be named. We are the elders without the respect, we are the wise men (and women) still walking out in the desert searching for the blind man, or perhaps the fool on the hill who sees the sun coming up. Nowhere man please listen, and if the song is right, isn't he a bit like you and me?

Ride Captain ride, and the world comes fool circle again. In 1969 we had Apollo landing on the moon, and now with it almost 2009 we have a long haired Billionaire, one Lord Branson flying his Virgin Airlines, with plans to run the world's first commercial space flight service...any one want to bet that man has done a bong hit or two? Here's a wake up call...Bio fuel the way it is being done will not work, and if we travel down the nuclear highway far enough it will kill you and most of everyone else. Someone should call up the DOE and tell them the cat's out of the bag. Let out the battery technology you have been suppressing, and bring us the Electric Car...anyone wondered why the most famous electric sports car is called the Tesla?

Feel right now like someone should put on Tubular Bells...not the side with the theme song from the Exorcist on it, but side two...GOD, I miss my LP's. Album covers were works of art, the albums themselves handled with reverence, ever vigilant that one scratch could ruin your favorite song. The IPOD is a wondrous magic box, but have to wonder if it is not marginalizing music, devaluing the experience and sharing in joining together for a night of song. There is no protocol with an IPOD, no chance for romance, the stolen kiss you find in going through your wooden fruit boxes, pulling out some of your favorite Vinyl's from so long ago, admiring the covers, recalling a concert from the days of your youth.

"I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told"...Simon and Garfunkel from their album, "Bridge Over Troubled Waters.

"Still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest"...I'd figure out how to raise a million bucks if the Republicans played that as George W. Bush takes the stage at this years Republican National Convention. "Oh Behave!" I can hear Mike Myers now, followed closely by the Church Lady with her renown, "Well isn't that SPECIAL."

Vietnam, Iraq War, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Will Obama be this year's George McGovern? Stay tuned, same bat channel, same bat time. Will the Democrats snatch defeat from victory, give the White House to John McSame, and the Supreme Court to the Evangelicals of the Radical Right Wing? Don't answer that, I don't want to know. Someone stop the world I want to get off.

Bye bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry...as Red Skelton would say, Good Night and God Bless. Hope you have enjoyed a small slice of my world, a glimpse of your own from the eyes of the Green Cosmic Rabbit, Bud Hasherdashery signing off.