We’ve been experiencing a glorious summer this year in Santa Barbara. The temperature hovers at seventy with a slight stirring breeze and no grey skies—not even in the morning! My neighbor just left to take advantage of summer sales: nectarines, raspberries, cherries, corn on the cobb. And yesterday I planted some more pots on my deck with cilantro, dill, basil, peppermint and chives along with cayenne peppers to infuse vodka for Silky cocktails.
I ride my bike everywhere, especially along the beach to soak up the sun and bask in the sultry season. I’ve even been catching up on summer matinees in the long afternoons, leaving the darkened theater in the evening with daylight still in full swing until well after eight o’clock.
Checking my notes as I work on the book, I came across the fact that Sylvia died 35 years ago today. The kismet we share, through time and eternity, is eerie. Here is an excerpt from my book that says it all…
Today I had one of those freaky kismet moments with Sylvia. I went into my files looking for her death certificate to verify her address on Sunset when she lived down the street from us. Naturally, I skimmed more than just the numerals when I found the document. And then I froze. Time seemed to stand still, but the clock on my desk was ticking quite loudly.
I looked up at my computer to see if I was hallucinating, but it was confirmed. There it was, in black and white. She died on June 29th, 1977—this very day thirty years ago. She still has an uncanny way of taking me by surprise in random and charming ways.