My parents retired to a condo in San Clemente about 1971, before there was a 5 was a Freeway. They were on the inland side of a beachfront hill, overlooking a golf course that is still there today open to the public. Back then the area was remote and private enough for President Richard Nixon to be able play through when he came to vacation at the Western White House down the beach.
My dad was so proud that he could go out on his terrace and wave at Nixon as he played through. All his comfy Republican neighbors would also come out on their lawns and wave at Nixon and the Secret Service guys with him, playing golf in the ocean breezes on a quiet midweek day. Today housing developments, a freeway, and strip malls fill those hills.
My parents lived through the Roaring Twenties in Chicago, so not only did they tipple a martini or two in their day. They also smoked weed. My dad described going to the Loop into an alley to score a “nail” which was a loosely rolled joint full of sticks and seeds. He said it popped when you smoked it.
In his retirement my dad contracted glaucoma so I convinced him to try some weed to treat it. I think he even planted some seeds there on his San Clemente hillside overlooking the golf course. Later I asked him if he’d tried the cannabis and he made a distasteful look, ‘Yeah, I didn't like it.”
“But dad it will help your glaucoma, why don’t you like it?”
“It was too heady.”
Heh heh.
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