I have been smoking marijuana since I was a teenager in the 1960s. I remember finding a large baggie full of Mexican pot, with seeds and stems, in my mom's jewelry box when I was fifteen. Being the youngest kid in my family, I knew my sister and one of my brothers smoked it, but I never suspected my mom to use it. Well, she had cancer, but it was before the medical community understood that marijuana relieved some of the unpleasant side effects of chemo-therapy. She was kind of a beatnik/hipster in her day, and I suppose some of her friends smoked it. To be honest, I never talked to her about it other than that time I mentioned, when I found her stash. She told me if I wanted to smoke pot, the only thing to remember was to not smoke it outside of our house. She didn't want me get in trouble with the police. I heeded her advice. That didn't prevent me from getting busted in my home a few years later. The cops, who were there on an unrelated matter, searched my room and found a roach, a tiny one at that, in an ashtray on my window sill. I was eighteen years old at the time, and had a poster in my window that said "Vote Yes on Prop 19". That was an early effort to get a law on the books that would somewhat de-criminalize pot. It failed. When the cop who had found the roach saw the poster, he said something to the effect that pot would never be legalized, and to put my hands behind me so he could handcuff me and take me to jail. After being taken to the Laguna Beach jail, booked and stuck in a cell, I was released. I remember hitchhiking home about 10 o'clock, and having to face the wrath of my father. He said marijuana was a dangerous drug that would lead to heroin addiction. I'll steer clear of that at the moment. It isn't true, but I did become a heroin addict later. Funny thing, during that part of my life I never smoked pot.
I've gotten off track. But this is my blog, so if you don't like it, thats too bad. Next time, we'll talk about pot shopping in Steamboat Springs, aka Ski Town USA and Bike Town USA. We like to pat ourselves on the back for our sporty awesomeness. Too bad we can't call ourselves Pot Town USA, but it might not sit well with our numerous second-home owners who come from places where it's still very illegal. More next time.
