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As we drove back over the mountain to Bandon, Debbie and I discussed why we had left California. After all, except for a few days in summer, Bakersfield weather isn’t that bad, but I guess when compared to the cool northwest, it hadn’t stood a chance. Oregon, just to say that name brings to mind trees, cranberries, and salmon. It sounds so…oh, I don’t know, refreshing, which was one thing the stale air of the Central Valley lacked. Yes, Oregon had sounded like a paradise, but what we hadn’t expected was to be cut off from family and friends. After all, in that not-too-distant past, there was on P.C. and the internet, so communication was done through letters and occasionally, by phone.
When we pulled up in front of the theater it seemed like any other Bandon afternoon -- a little drizzle and few people out and about. Debbie reached into her purse for the keys Hemmings had given her.
She then turned to me, and said, “We’ll make this...
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