I’ ve taken on coordinating a fund-raiser. It’s a good thing because it distracts me from writing “We Were The California Girls.”
“Ca Girls” is a memoir in progress, that isn’t so much about me, as it is about a generation–My Generation. I can only show the story through my experience. My aging generation teeters somewhere between being brilliant and bold and possibly the most destructive ever in modern human history.
It’s also about California and the distinctively cultural and social differences that the state imprints on its natives and long time residents.
I never realized the differences until I lived in New Mexico. One day, sitting near the Embudo River in Dixon, NM, some neighbors and I were swapping lies, tales and funny stories about our youth. I bantered about this and that as if the event and circumstances were as normal as fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Incredulous eyes stared at me in disbelief. “What?” I asked. “Didn’t everyone do that?” Apparently not.
One of the people there said she thought I had too much wine and that she didn’t believe me. I am a story-teller, but a lousy teller of fictional tales. “No, seriously, we did that,” I defended with a curious air–wondering what’s wrong with these people?
One of the group rescued me and said, “I was in California then, and what Charmaine says is true.”
My time in New Mexico introduced me to a different take on status, bloodline, and all the things that I, historically, chaffed. I didn’t know I was a real California girl until then.
Now I wrestle with how much do I tell; is a certain event important,;does it relate; does any one care; is it a value to the point of writing this memoir?
Today I took a break from non-profit fundraising and worked on chapter 5. I’ll rewrite it a billion more times before I make a final rewrite; I’ll wonder WTF am I doing writing this stuff for the world to read (and Ca. Girls receives a lot of hits); I’ll celebrate when I’ve avoid passive phrasing; I’ll discover more about my heart and soul; and I’ll be happy that so much good has come my way in spite of my history of poor judgement.
The Muse Pallet 
Somebody has to tell this story and I am so glad it is you. It was “our” time and I want to read and savor the memories. My memory does not serve me well in details any more. Your personal story makes me wish I could have been part of your life.
I am coming up for the fundraiser. We can put back a few and talk about the “POP” festival and Hollywood. I have so many photos these days.
But at that time there was no iphoto and who ever carried a camera around with them. I wished I had more photos of those crazy summer nights to jog my memory. You are doing a spectacular job with the fundraiser.
LOL. The fundraiser is the perfect excuse to not write! But good old-fashioned guilt demanded a few words!