In the early 1970’s  an invitation to a summer Sunday party was to flirt with a trip into another dimension.   As I was to learn.

“Sunshine Cottage” is no more.  Wild asters and poplar saplings now grow on the quarter acre  patch of land along  Route 14 on the way to Woodbury, Vermont. ‘  Not a trace is left of the little farmhouse where Lenny and his two ladies slept together on the queen sized mattress in a bedroom hung with beads and scarves from India.     Lenny  is dead,  long gone and under mysterious circumstances better left without investigation.  And the child born to the child-like girl brought into the barren bed could be, by now, a grandparent.

On the day in question ,the day of the party which my friend and I attended, we had parked our car within sight of the lake, the water a great expanse of  shimmering silver, and trotted into the moving crowd of partygoers.   Sniffing the air, we were,  like bloodhounds on the scent.   Finger snapping mind set, ready for anything, glad to be young.

Cheap red flowed … in cracked kitchen cups.  “God, that’s good” we breathed  “That’s great stuff…”  Outside the farmhouse orange helenium flowers and milkweed, going to seed,  grew waist high…I was having a terrific time…feeling no pain.   Elbowing my way into the crowded living room I stood, swaying slightly, and beamed benignly on all those wonderful people.. I was  on top of the world. Surfing the waves…..

“Want a toke, babe?”  A seductive voice breathed in my ear…Not bothering to turn round I reached two spread fingers into the air behind my head and said, gaily “Sure, why not?”

I took a long drag from the joint that arrived., holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger.   It didn’t take long to travel the distance to my brain and cause it’s havoc…  “Whoa!” I croaked, and took another drag….and then…another…”What is this.?. .I mean…Whoa…”  My voice had a strange dis-connect like a badly dubbed foreign film, none of the words quite in sync.

“What it is, babe, is the best…Acapulco Gold”

“Oh, tha’s all… right ..then”   I slurred.   Having had one or two quick puffs of pot, on a dare,  years previously I very soon realized that I wasn’t in the league for this lethal weed.   A panic , starting somewhere in a tiny backwater  of my brain,  threatened to  spread and undo me.  “Get a grip, woman” I thought ” Get a definite grip and… make a move to.. get the hell out of here:”.

I know that I was still vertical because suddenly the entire room filled with disembodied heads floating above thick white mist…no bodies, just heads talking and laughing, sipping away from their cracked teacups.

Profoundly shocked, fighting down the panic, my mind snapped into survival mode and I turned towards the direction I thought was a door.   As the white fog shifted and began to clear I saw the  door and sent instructions to my legs to move towards it.  The legs weren’t getting the message…they refused to move .  And the door, terrifyingly, began to retreat before my eyes, becoming smaller and further away in response to my passionate entreaty for escape.

Trying to remain calm, bringing up a vision of beleaguered Boudicca on a last stand against the Roman Suetonius,  I spoke sternly to my right leg.    “Leg, you will gather all your reserves,  uproot yourself from the floor and replant yourself as far forward as possible in the direction of that door.. visible half a mile away..over there… I’m in trouble here…and it’s up to you to help me…. Take it slow , strong and resolute..I’m right behind you.. take your time, if you must…but DO IT”.

“Feet’s don’t fail me NOW”

That Sisyphean journey of about ten feet across the ratty carpet was accomplished- finally.  I must have looked like the archetypal zombie with lead pipes up his  trouser legs.

I have no memory whatever of stumbling through the door, and finding my way back to the car by the lake.  I know, however, that my friend followed me out of that house because I do remember falling against the car shouting cheekily  “I’ll drive”

Did he wrestle me to the ground and throw me in the trunk?   I certainly hope so.

Acapulco Gold?………Never again, Babe….