Men get to be a mixture of the charming mannerisms of the women they have known.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up
Yesterday, Sunday, was the Celebration of Farley’s life and there was a significant turnout, a nice celebration with reminiscences by his children and friends and others who knew him. The day had started warm but by the end of the celebration a cold front had moved in, similar to summer’s late afternoons in San Francisco when clouds would rush in from the Pacific and blanket the city with a layer of cold. This cold front had me clutching my sweater about my neck as it sucked the blue from the sky and the heat from the earth. I thought it might have been Farley, having heard what people had said about him, saying his good-bye to San Miguel, and deciding it was time to join his dear Virginia somewhere.