More Tom

A late afternoon doze in my reclining chair bursts like a bubble at the sound of Tom's footstep on my plywood wheelchair ramp...a low thump as he quietly makes his way to my front door to hang the day's mail from a plastic Safeway bag, straighten the doormat and water the zinnias...itself a bubble, this thought, for he is dead. And whether it was actually heard or imagined, this treading, that question slightly disturbs me. It is the matter of haunting. The dead being where they shouldn't. Of Read more [...]

Tom and Karen

Karen is coming up the stairs...except there are none...they only feel like stairs...for this is the wheelchair ramp to my apartment. And she is moving with remarkable swiftness. Hooded like a monk, she makes for my front door, spectral, her head vanishing beneath the cape as she nears. Is the lock on? Maybe I forgot the front door in last night's preparations for bed. Which explains why Karen is now turning the knob, stepping inside, the hood of her cape revealing itself to be empty, as empty as Read more [...]

The Teign

At one stage of things, Virgin Atlantic Airways seemed to have an edge over its competitors in the entertainment department. Also, it must be admitted, food. But at the end of the 11-hour flight from London, this notion seemed like a flight from reality. My movies didn't work. Neither did Jane's. Lunch was regrettable. Still, no one can deny the miracle of such a thing, wrenching the body out of a continent 6000 miles away and in less than half a day depositing it here in San Francisco. I left my Read more [...]


A wonderful thing when the disabled access improves as a trip progresses. While I haven't concerned myself much with this dimension of wheelchair travel, it has been there. And now in the Jury's Inn, Exeter, wheelchair access is at its peak. A beautiful roll-in shower. Even a separate wheelchair toilet in the lobby/restaurant. The latter sending me to such levels of ecstasy that I confused the sign 'nappy waste' for 'happy waste.' Happy to be in Britain, I am. Eddy has died. I got word Read more [...]

British Library

The day began the way its predecessor ended, in a deep state of frustration. Travel. One goes so many places. One of the worst places involves age. There are certain mobile phones geared to those with age under their belts, and I purchased one upon arrival the other day at St. Pancras Station. The young Iranian man who sold it to me was not only kind, but indulgent. I had lost my other British mobile phone somehow, moving down the great road of life. But here I was with my Vodafone card in Read more [...]

Off the Ship

Indulgence. What is it precisely? A week lolling about a ship? Doubtless. The real question being, what are the constructive uses of lolling? For those of us driven to produce and perform, inactivity can feel downright threatening. And in a life of doing nothing, interspersed with doing things that are enjoyable, what happens? I watched with bemusement as Jane departed our stateroom just moments ago in search of a Rumba class. Everyone should study the Rumba, or have the right to do so. Read more [...]