A while ago, I went rooting through a drawer in search of a particular item, which I failed to find. But, in the process, I came across a clutch of old black-and-white photos of theSanta Barbara Mission. I hadn't seen them in ages, and had forgotten that I'd ever taken them. I think it was when I was eleven or twelve, and we had gone for a drive up the coast with no destination in mind, and simply fetched up there. I have hazy memories of the day, of the afternoon sunlight and the sea breeze, and the blue sky and green gardens- now all no more than vaguely preserved in these colorless little squares of paper, decades old. Still, even these pale memories, and the even paler pictures, have reminded me how much I miss the ocean.
I would dearly love to live in Santa Barbara. Yes, I know it is outrageously expensive now, and the town is probably more snobbish than ever, and someday a huge tsunami is going to come pouring over the channel islands and wipe the place from the face of the earth in a matter of minutes, but I still feel a strong attachment to it. Every single time I've been to Santa Barbara, from the earliest trips I can recall, it has been a good experience. In fact, I have always felt more comfortable there than I do here, or almost anywhere else. I could just pack up and go, of course. I'm sure I could find a nice a converted garage apartment in one of the rattier neighborhoods, for two or three million dollars. That would be nice.
Now, I'm going to go to sleep, and dream dreams that have a better chance of coming true.