The weekend after seeing my Sis, Skot and I drove to Santa Barbara for his cousins Wedding.
I had not been back to SB in nearly 20 years since I lived there with my first husband.
So I got to give Skot the abbreviated tour from the Highway. This exit is where I used to live, this exit is where I used to work, that exit was where I used to go for lunch, yadda yadda. All the while I'm running the tapes in my head of all the time I lived there, the things I learned, the things I wish I could forget.
We got in to town and stopped at the very first restaurant we saw, a little Mexican place in Carpintiria. Then we checked in to our hotel, freshened up, changed clothes and bolted back out the door. We arrived at the location but suddenly realized we had no idea 'where' the in this place the wedding was at.
After dashing around the front of the hotel we saw the bride...down the street with her gaggle of brides maids. We strode off at a brisk pace noting the wedding pavilion off in the distance on the beach. We made just in time, the family that recognized us grabbed us up in hugs and greetings and drew us off to sit on the Grooms side near the front. Hence the fabulous photo I got!
After the wonderfully crafted slightly bohemian Jewish ceremony we all trotted off to the reception area, upstairs in the hotel. We ate, we drank, drank some more, ate again, a little bit of dancing. All in all a good night.
The next morning I took him up the mountain to a vista point totally worth it! We were there for about 45 minutes. Just as we were about to leave I noticed the gas tank was empty...oops. We had to drive back in to Goleta to get gas but decided that a trip by Lake Cachuma was not to be missed so we went back over the pass, stopped for lunch by the lake then drove on Home.
A magical trek through California at the peak of Indian Summer. We noticed miles upon miles of vineyards as well as miles and miles of vegetables. Truly we live in a fertile land.
This trip was not as mind blowing as the last two but I did get to mull over and process a chunk of my emotional history.