Bathtub time is reserved for either listening to Hall & Oates and crying or coming up with ideas for new blog posts. One action does not necessarily inspire the other, but this morning the two converged. As I contemplated how much Daryl Hall really fucking loved Sara, I thought of the Woodstock Music Festival which celebrated it’s 40th anniversary this weekend and had nothing to do with Hall & Oates whatsoever. In fact, Daryl Hall and John Oates had only met two years prior to the legendary concert. I guess the awesomemulletmoustache duo came to mind because my mother loves them and she loved every single band that played at Woodstock. So in my mind, Hall & Oates played at Woodstock because my mother would have wanted them to.
My mother was nineteen years old when Woodstock took place in an upstate NY farm not far from where she grew up. She’s the only person over fifty that I talked today so I asked her her experiences with the festival.
“Oh yeah, I didn’t go.” she said before I even finished asking her the question.
“Well because three different boys asked me to go and I was really afraid that if I went with one, I’d run into the other two.”
She thinks for a moment.
“I remember sitting at my Uncle Harry’s house in Endicott, listening to the radio reports of what was going on and thinking, “Oh shit, I want to go go go!”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know. I was afraid they weren’t going to have enough toilets.”
*Post-script- my mother politely asked me not use anyone’s names in this post because obviously one of the three men who asked her to Woodstock 40 years ago might get offended.