Ginnie’s mom died yesterday. She was a lovely woman who lived to be 94, and Ginnie posted on Facebook:
In tribute to my mom, Barbara Bacheler, who lived her 94 years with gusto, spreading light and love to everyone she came in contact with. She’s my hero. And this is her first appearance on Facebook, which would bemuse her!
I like to think that my memory of her would bemuse her, as well.
Pull up a chair, kids, and I’ll tell you all about the first time I met Ginnie’s mom, and how she so kindly served me my last breakfast at a kitchen table in the summer of 1971 before Hank and I headed off for the Canadian border in my 1970 Ford Maverick, color Thanks Vermillion, to begin our Kerouacian tour of America.
The day I met Ginnie’s mom began in Brooklyn, where I loaded my duffel bag full of clothes and my Gibson guitar and a brand-new, never-used two-man canvas tent, and a brand-new, never-used Coleman stove, and a brand-new, never-used Coleman lamp and a brand-new, never-used Coleman cooler — we were so experienced at this camping stuff — and drove to Queens to pick up Hank, who threw in his suitcase and our journey began. Continue reading