I hope you are well and happy. Nazy and I are enjoying Southern California and visiting with (most of) our family. Before beginning on new events, one of my derisive comments from last week’s letter requires some adjustment.

“Adjustment?” Nazy asked.

“Correction?” I replied.

So.. replace the following sentence in last week’s letter:

“You cannot enter,” the septuagenerian clerk announced.

with

“You cannot enter,” the octogenarian clerk announced.

My comments in that letter referred to a fossilized (but clever) customer ‘service’ clerk who worked for United Airlines. Friends have suggested that as our own age advances, we should redirect derision to an ever-older age group. In short, although I’m not close to being a septuagenerian, I’m even farther from been an octogenarian.

After our stay in Los Angeles (and Hollywood), Nazy and I drove to Santa Barbara to visit Melika and her fiance Tom. They live in the Mesa neighborhood of Santa Barbara with a wonderful 270° panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. Melika was at work when we arrived, and after we shared a nice dinner with Tom’s family, she went back to work. The next day, Nazy prepared a great Persian dinner for a party for Melika and Tom’s friends. Melika, at work, arrived late and, directly after the party she returned to the office. She was immersed in the last stages of a complex IPO and her firm, like most law firms, is unenlightened when it comes to treatment of young lawyers.

At a quick breakfast the next morning, I tried to bring up the subject but Melika was prepared.

“Mitra is working too hard, Dad.” She asserted.

“Mitra?” I asked.

“She and Stefan are always working at the Tango School, Dad. She needs balance.”

“Somehow, Melika, I think that it is more balanced to dance until 3:00AM than it is to massage codicils, attachments and appendices until 3:00AM.”

“Hrrmph.” Melika hrrumphed. “And Darius has been working night and day on some kind of economics paper. He..”

“... is also taking dance lessons, Melika,” I replied. “And he has blue dancing shoes.”

“Well I think he needs to relax.”

“Darius, Mel, is very spontaneous. He knows how to relax.”

“Well, Dad, I’ve got to run.”

“When will we see you?”

“This will be a long day, Dad.”

“No, Melika. It will be a 24 hour day. I’m just wondering how many of those hours you’ll be at work.”

“It will be a late night.”

“It will be an early morning,” I thought. “You need a break,” I said.

“I’m really glad you mentioned that, Dad. One of Tom’s colleagues wants to invest in Tom’s company and he has given us an anniversary gift: flights to Split, Croatia and a chartered boat on the Med.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” Melika whispered.

“Tomorrow?” I shouted.

“Tom has been trying to change the tickets, but there are only a few flights to Split and I really need this break with my fiance. And Tom needs to talk with..”

“Are you aware that we have just arrived, Melika? Did you notice that we haven’t seen much of you?”

“You can drive my Porsche while we’re gone.”

“Melika..” I temporized while considering the offer.

“I need a break, Dad. I’m worn out.”

“I will talk to your mother,” I replied. “And what will I say?” I thought. “Melika and Tom will be gone while we are here, dear?”

After Mel and Tom left for LAX and before Darius drove up from LA, Nazy and I had a bit of time to see Santa Barbara.. a true Californian city. The food was organic (we call it ‘bio’ in Switzerland), the ambiance ‘new age’: artsy, spiritual incantations featuring far east philosophy floated through the air reminding me a bit of college in the 70’s. We toured the 16th century Santa Barbara mission and, when Darius arrived, visited the local botanical gardens.

The Santa Barbara Mission

Because I’ve been having a recurring dream about hitting a home run in a baseball game, Darius and I went to a local batting cage to ‘live the dream’.

“Can we hit an 80MPH pitch, Dad?” Darius asked.

“I don’t know about ‘we’, Dar,” I replied. “But I am sure about me.” I walked to the 50MPH batting cage. 19 pitches later, my dream had become a nightmare. “Maybe I hit a winning bunt,” I thought, “.. in slow pitch softball. Or, I could have been hit by a pitch thereby forcing in the winning run.” Darius, who had not had any dreams was more succinct.

“This is really hard, Dad. You sucked.”

On the weekend, Nazy’s siblings Shahriar (with Fay and Daniel) and Shahrzad (with Richard and Layla) joined us in Santa Barbara. Mitra and Stefan drove up from Los Angeles and we had a very nice family weekend - in Melika and Tom’s house.

Everyone agreed that Santa Barbara has wonderful weather - it is cool in the evenings and warm during the day. Sunshine is prevalent and humidity is not. We didn’t like the California freeways (which should have been called parkways since no one moved on them), but everyone agreed that the sunsets were wonderful.

And, we especially liked the biweekly farmers market..

“More tomatoes?” I asked. “Nazy has more varieties of tomato than she has pairs of shoes,” I thought. Outrageously.

“I like tomatoes,” Nazy replied.
“You like shoes too, my dear. And handbags.”

“Do you have a point?”

“Why do you want yellow tomatoes?”

“They taste good, Dan. Have you seen the purple ones?”

“Purple tomatoes?

“Look at this, Dad!” MItra exclaimed. “The guy at the flower booth told me I could have as much as I could hold in one hand for $5.”

“Just like Zurich,” I replied. Sarcastically.

“I think you have bigger hands than me, Dad. Want to get some flowers?”

“My hands are full, Mitra. I’m carrying California’s 2012 tomato harvest.”

‘Why’d you pick the purple tomato, Dad? It looks like an eggplant.”

“Ask your Mom.”