Thanks for the good times, Pink House on Mann Ave., thanks Gina for letting us house/dogsit while you gallivant around France. We had strawberry fields forever.
With a closet full of Frieda Kahlo clothes.
And our choice of beaches right up Highway 1.
Along with Phil's Fish House, The Whole Enchalada, and Zachary's--because my mother loves to eat out.
We drank wine and drew pictures of wine. (Love all the Mexican glass, Gina!)
Chucho would like a pancake. Or a waffle. Or whatever you've got. Not wine though.
A fire makes it cozy when it's foggy in the morning.
Tomorrow we head to Portland singing Tom Petty's Don't Want to Live Like a Refugee...although so far, really, it's hard to complain.