Back in 1968 or so I invited my mother, who would have been about these ladies' ages, to smoke pot with me in the rose garden. It was a warm summer early evening and we were just relaxing in the lawn chairs after dinner. I could tell she wanted to but she declined saying, "I'm too old to change." I tried a bit of cajoling but I knew I was already on thin ice. I was surprised she wasn't having a conniption, what with me rolling a joint and lighting up right in front of her. But she was more curious than anything and relieved, I think, to see that I didn't turn into a raving maniac or something.