by Pearl Cawley

Created on: August 18, 2009   Last Updated: August 19, 2009

Got back an hour ago so I'm loopy after an eternal car ride from Upstate NY. The Woodstock 40th anniversary thingie was at first promisingly good and then not so good in its lack of delivery and then good again, because, as with everything, life is what you make it.

I'll start with the good, mix in the not-so-good and return to the good which is actually great.

Our present day road to Woodstock was a mini version of what was depicted 40 years ago. Approaching the site there was a side road lined with hippies old and new. Home made tie dyes stalls and hippie garb food and live music from a couple of bars. It had a good promising vibe. A lot of bikers. It seems that bikers, ironically, carried on with the hippie life. How did we spit away from Mother earth centric to lawn perfection and designer kitchens?

I did not attend Woodstock 40 years ago, but my soul left my body to be there. It felt as if I went. How could it not? Weeks leading up to the festival, print and radio announced a confluence of artists, I couldn't believe would be playing one after another on one stage. The chance to see Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Credence Clearwater, The Who and everyone else plus rumors of possible Beatles and Bob Dylan generated chills. You could tell it was going to be big.

For some reason none of my friends made an attempt to go either. I didn't have anyone who lived near me who said "hop in. Let's go" Living in NY City few of us owned cars. I would have gone had there been ready opportunity. Perhaps I pondered not knowing how I'd get back to work on Monday. I was an uptight pseudo hippie, I guess. I was proud to call myself a head and a freak at age 18. If you called me weird, I'd have thanked you.

There's the old clich that if you remember the sixties, you weren't there. I was there for everything else other than Woodstock. The Central Park Be-ins, the protests. Just being and thinking the thoughts I thought made me authentic.

So, I didn't have to go. I was there, because the people who did go represented me and my thinking. The size of the crowd reported on the news and papers said it all. The freedom I wanted was being carried out up state. It proved the few of us spotted with long hair on sidewalks and subways weren't alone. The people in Bethel NY wore the clothes I wore. They took the acid and smoked the pot I would've taken and smoked. They gyrated to the music that made me move. They were

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