TOPANGA BEACH 1983
A phone call from out of the blue, or in my case, from out of the black, took me back to Topanga Beach, California, 1983.
My teenage son and I were living in a weekly-rate motel on the Pacific Coast Highway. We had been estranged for several years and now we were together again.
My son died a few years later. The memory of our time in California lives. As does the woman who brought it back.
She followed up the phone call by sending me a postcard my son had written to her back then, a few words on a card but full of hope, happiness and humor. A priceless memento for me now. And I thank her for it.