The thing about "memories" is that you never know when one's going to come along and bite you in the butt. Especially when said bite comes from a frog named Kermit and the memories are of childhood vacations taken to Santa Barbara.
Santa Barbara is a coastal town dripping with Spanish influence situated a couple hours drive north of Los Angeles. It boasts one of the most beautiful beaches in Southern California, dubbed the American Riveriera, a pier and long windy boardwalk, the same boardwalk on which my sisters and I roller-skated and found a flawless Kermit doll, lounging on his side, as if waiting for us.
I look back on these vacations, now, with mixed feelings, due to learning in my early twenties that our father had a secret family living there and that I have four half brothers.
My green hero would become in later years a symbol of family secrets, sibling rivalry and wanting to grow up too-fast. This, here, is a picture I stumbled across on Pinterest this week. I love it for its casual irreverence. It pokes fun at this symbol that has stayed with me these last 30+ years.