|Flowers and dvds I received|
from filmmakers John and
Grace Ferry on my last day
in Santa Barbara
|Highway 101 north|
|Gaviota Beach and pier|
Being only a 12-mile drive from Solvang, Gaviota is where we teens went to soak up the rays while listening to the Beach Boys, Jan & Dean, and the Surfaris back in the 1960s. It's a large, white sand beach in a small harbor protected on both sides by tall, rocky, white cliffs. It was there my mother held beach parties for my birthday, where we wondered at the magical glow of Red Tide (it actually glows blue--here's a photo of it), and where I had my first vodka snooze (and got a terrible sunburn) with a group of friends when I was 16. Already, I'd been confronted by more memories than I'd recalled in 12 years, and I wondered how many more I'd meet before my vacation was over. Could my mind hold them all? I took a lot of pictures before getting in my car and going back to the 101.
I started to find my memories that day, I found them embedded in the asphalt. I found them in old oaks that I'd looked at many times 50 years ago and are still there. I found my memories in the sky, in the sand and in very air that I breathed. I let my window down to take them all in and I let my wall down, opening myself to whatever my memories would bring me, be that sadness or joy.
Next: I encounter my childhood demons and find they were really only angels unawares.