On Sunday morning, as I lifted my phone up to take a picture of my new home to share with you all, a stranger from across the street yelled out, “It was called the Peace House back in the ’60s and ’70s. Overflowing with a bunch of hippies!”
I turned around to see an older gentleman who had stopped when he saw what I was photographing. I smiled at his openness…not the norm in these new days of social distancing…walked over to him (keeping my 6+ ft distance, bien sur) and said that yes, I knew this and that it is my new home. Did he party here? Does he have some stories to share?
“Yes!” he smiled back at me. We chatted for a few more minutes before each heading off in our own directions. His name was Eric and I hope I will see him out and about this summer.
When this all passes…and it will…we yogis and artists, movers and thinkers, doubters and believers, are going to help return this Peace House to its former glory as a grand salon of all the right things:
Until then, in solidarity and with great love,