I am deeply saddened by the loss of my longtime friend Pierce Carson.
I met Pierce in the late 1960s when I was a tour guide at Beringer Brothers Winery, and also actively involved as an actress with Pretenders Playhouse. Two things we both loved: good wine and theater.
He lived nearby, and we would often converse as he walked past my house on his way to his work at the Register building on Second Street, or to the Clay Street Safeway store prior to the 2014 earthquake.
He always walked downtown and would decline whenever I offered him a ride, saying he preferred to walk, one of many qualities I admired about him.
He was always friendly and jovial when we encountered one another at various venues of entertainment around the Napa Valley over the years from 1967 to the present, a span of 50 years. I was only 22 when we first met. Time is brief in retrospect; seems like just the other day that I arrived in Napa. That was 1962 and a different place entirely, unrecognizable in truth.
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The passing of other mutual friends in recent times, Richard Miami and Margrit Mondavi, bring the reality of mortality ever closer to consciousness, including the certainty of my own demise, at some future point in time, with the Grim Reaper himself, a fact that we tend to avoid contemplating, until confronted with the death of a dear friend.
Borrowing the lyrics from an old song: "... for our good times are all gone... and I'm bound for moving on... I'll look for you if I'm ever back this way."
Godspeed, dear Pierce. It was a treasure to have known you.