Accidental Commune

"So, you said you were raised in a commune, right?" The question came quite out of nowhere and was presented to me by a woman I've spoken with maybe twice in the 7 months I've been in my current ward.

I laughed. "Oh, no! I'm a total dirt-eating hippie, and my parents are kind of Mother Earth types, but, no, no commune." Then I got to thinking about all the random people we had living in our house over the years, and the interesting living conditions, and the outdoor shower, and the garden, and the composting (way before it was cool), and, and, and... and then I said, "heh, well, sort of..."

"Oh," she said, "where were you raised?"

"A very small town in rural Northern California just outside of Yosemite."

"Maybe that's where I got it--Northern California is kind of, liberal."

When I got home I told Mumsy. She laughed and agreed with me that, yeah, sort of, when you think about it, my childhood was quite communal. I proposed a memoir of growing up in an "accidental commune." Dad has declared that I'm not allowed, at least not until he's dead. Maybe I'll start it now. He's got only a few more years in him anyway.