The Vein

Remarkable the way one can drift along, aware of not sleeping well the previous night, things not being as they should be...though why this is important remains unclear.  The day is dominated by practicalities and details, a new tenant moving in upstairs, for one thing.  And what with a morning bout with the rowing machine, followed by various decisions concerning the moving out of furniture from the upstairs apartment, followed by volunteer Paul and I rolling out for brunch and a cappuccino....  Read more [...]

Night Shift

Somewhere near the close of my first year of university, my father and I had a severe falling out.  Armed with whatever knowledge and confidence had accrued to me wandering the University of California residence halls, I decided to have a talk.  With my father, that is.  He was becoming awfully isolated, I told him.  Thus, my expression of concern.  Doubtless uttered in the wrong way, and the very sort of exchange that probably proves tricky for any father and any son.  Read more [...]


It is fear all right, particularly if it awakens you at four in the morning and keeps you awake, directing your mind toward the most trivial and repetitive thoughts.  And even prevents you from taking an early afternoon nap, such is the persistence....  And fear of what and from what, none of this is the least bit clear, so let's work backwards from the obvious starting point or, to be more precise, the ending point.Death.  Having witnessed the wife's and deciding that it is not pretty...and Read more [...]


What is credible about it to me is the lack of vehemence.  The police mentioned his name, claimed he had been spotted nearby that night, and that was that.  Astonishingly today, having his name or something close to it, the web reveals a surprising amount.  The man is dead, and that is a matter of relief to me.  For I fear him, that is the simple truth.  He is forever coming after me in this, my waking dream life, the terror-inspired present.  But there it is, on the Read more [...]

To Chorus

With everything out of sorts, out of true and out of balance, it should be no surprise that I am running out of patience.  Particularly with the staff of Trader Joe's, normally stalwarts, but on this particular evening most disappointing.  For I have many notes to go before I sleep, all of them in the bass section, aimed with various degrees of accuracy at John Rutter, tonight's favorite composer at the weekly rehearsal of the Menlo Park Chorus.  But for now, with minutes to go before Read more [...]

Mill Valley

This story begins with the toppling of a small container of french fries, although not that small, or if one is mercilessly honest about the dietary facts of middle-age, not small enough....  And naturally we are in a church parking lot.  What is natural about this is that I keep finding myself in them, more particularly Jane's Episcopal carpark, up the hill in Menlo Park, and they are all very much of a piece, paved and striped.  And in this one, Bill has parked his Toyota, and the Read more [...]