In the Castro

In another era...say, four weeks ago...I might have deemed it cowardly or unsporting to request assistance. Being older and wiser now, what the hell. Dennis and I leave the house together and head straight up the hill to Bemis Street. We stand shivering in the fog while he checks his app. The 35 Eureka is six minutes away. I tell Dennis that this reminds me of waiting for the school bus with my mother. Did I wait for the school bus with my mother? Surely I did. And surely I did not learn this in Read more [...]

16th Street

I wake daily with a sense of dread, not to mention fear. And when I say "daily," this is an understatement, for this is not only this day, but all days, all years...and probably all decades. Which is a strange reality, when I think about it. Particularly now, when I have managed to cross the ice floes of life for 68 years and have reached this spot, whatever it is. And since this spot is connected to the outside world by half a spinal cord, well, okay, one can breathe easy, right? Wrong, of course. Read more [...]


As I roll through the front door...which isn't the real front door, but the entry from the garage...both dogs emerge barking and expectant. I fuss over them, calling Bixby, Bela. Seconds later we reach the sunroom where one of our two cats is crossing the floor. Bixby explodes in the slightly disoriented way of a rescued border collie...chasing our black cat...or trying. The claws send a rat tat tat as both mammals slip on the polish of the hardwood floor. That is the thing about our new domicile, Read more [...]

36 Teresita

The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home...which is so far from my new Glen Park home to make one go ever so slightly bonkers. Let us put it this way. The clouds over this Pacific coastal city give one of the most remarkable imitations of rain I have ever seen. Of course, it doesn't...rain, that is. It dries and dries, and tries and tries. So off one goes, feeling beneath a cloud. No wonder San Francisco is so enthused about coffee. Like Seattle, the skies are ever threatening. But unlike Seattle, Read more [...]


Perhaps I consider the trip home overly long. And in too much depth. After all, I am already anticipating what will happen if the traffic light at the junction of Vicente Street and Portola Avenue forces me to stop on a hill...because there's always a scary moment when reality sags...and my Dodge Grand Caravan begins an imperceptible slip backwards...after my letting up on the brake pedal and depressing the accelerator. Very depressing, that feeling of being slightly out of control. Perhaps hitting Read more [...]


I would say it is getting better. I cannot say what 'it' actually is, but it has to do with this time of my life. And am I having the time of my life? Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. This must be adulthood. No one ever explained that life can be stressful and rich at the same time. Naturally, it all revolves around eating. That and a completely unexpected addition to the daily routine - driving. Yes, every day I have been hitting the road. Not necessarily hitting it very hard, such as this Read more [...]