In the sixties and seventies…..

…..communes were a big deal…..

…..eating together…bathing together…meditating together…sleeping together…

…..everything was tie-dyed and together…..

…..there were sit-ins…and bed-ins (the Lennon/Ono one)…the Summer of Love…and lock-ons…..(***Remember What A Lock-On Was?*****)

I think I’ve mentioned before that I was living in New Jersey at that time…..

…..and I remember having the opportunity & being asked to go to this outdoor concert-thing in up-state New York…..

…..I picked staying home and go horseback riding instead…..

…..hmmmmm…..

But suffice to say…..my formative-teen-age-years were totally immersed in the flower-child-era…..

…..(come to think of it…..my hairstyle has never changed either)…..

…..(and I choose tie-dye whenever possible)…..

My point here is…..I was never allowed to go to Woodstock or even consider the jumbled personal space of a group commune…..

…..but I appear to have gravitated towards that in the gray-panther-era of my life…..

…..(***The Gray Panthers***)…..

There appears to be a collective-habitation in my bed every night…..

I have my favorites…..

…..and then there are the vagabond roamers…..

We all have our set places…..and pillows…..

There’s a healthy individual respect for everyone’s personal-space…..

…..and if there’s not…..

…..I know how to efficiently slingshot them like a trampoline off of my duvet and down the hallway…..

I really don’t mind the nightly kitty-commune on my bed…..

…..but I’ve never been a fan of the next morning’s/in-your-face/cat-yawns…..

…..they always smell like semi-digested fish vents  &  entrails…..

…..(I don’t recommend it)…..

…..but I do like kitty-snuggle-bunnies…..

…..(except for the fur that gets stuck up your nose or in your mouth)…..