Friday, January 25, 2013


When I moved to Bakersfield in 1986, I considered it a short term assignment until I found a better job. As it turned out, THAT was the job that was meant for me. So I remained a transient resident. I could not call the place home. It was a place where I worked and lived.

My home, to me, in my small pea brain, was still Lindsay. I hadn't spent a night there since I started law school, but it was still "home".

One of the things that I remembered most fondly from Lindsay (remember a child's magical thinking here) was the fog. I remember seeing Christmas lights shrouded in fog and warm fires in our fireplaces while the outside world surrounded itself in quiet mist.

All very romantic.

Then I grew up and moved 60 miles south to Bakersfield.

Fog is not, I repeat, NOT romantic.

Yesterday, The Kid and I went over to Bakersfield to see old friends and do some business.

And we had an encounter of the second kind. FOG.

Now I have seen it worse. Or should I say I have tried to see through worse. But it was slow going in any case.

Off the edge of Highway 58 you wouldn't know there was a 500 foot drop.

But once we got there we met with some of my old friends. The warmest, most wonderful people on the planet. We had a wonderful day sharing stories and food and more stories and more food.

It was food for the soul.

And I stopped to see the resting place of a very good friend and mentor.

I miss you, Your Honor. 

Fog, past and present.

Monday, January 7, 2013

mighty fly

My daughter sent me this after my GREAT lunch pun. She never appreciates my quick wit and gentle laugh.  (==snort==) 
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