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.

1 comment:

  1. Nope, nope, nope...I would be cowering in a parking lot somewhere if my fog-shrouded route took me on a road I knew had a drop off. I are a weenie...