I spent a night as a high school Fire Science student with three classmates in the room above the first door on the right. We got to slide down the pole and clean the fire trucks. At 11 pm or so, there was a big racket of garbage cans coming from the Rinky Dink, the little restaurant across the street. On queue, we yelled "HEY!!" out the window, and then one of us turned on the lights and we mooned whoever it was making the racket. We never heard anything about it--maybe it had become routine.
Twenty eight years later, the fire chief was my landlord, and I'd bring the rent check to him at the firehouse on the first of every month.
There's a great view of Pico Blanco where the Cabrillo Highway (California Highway 1) jogs east to cross the Little Sur river.
This is the view I'd paint.
When I met my sister for the first time (my mother had given her up for adoption 45 years before), I picked her up at the airport in Portland and drove to Ashland where she would meet for the first time her birth mother (my mother), and her birth father (my step-father). The drive affored us the opportunity to get to know each other. We walked through Lithia Park in Ashland, and that is where I took this picture.