Am I really growing more fragile by the day? It certainly feels that way. The reasons for this are not entirely clear, but the fact is…I am getting older. The next big new miraculous milestone in my life is no longer 70. It is 80. This feat of quadriplegic longevity defies every expectation. And it also looms, partly threat, partly sentence. And wholly unimaginable. Or is it? I guess that is the thing, this matter of aging, declining, advancing incapacitation…all this is noticeable day by day.

The current tiny benchmark, let us say, involves the morning shift from bed to wheelchair. Yes, you have heard this before. But it keeps getting more and more critical. Better have the wheelchair parked close to the bed, and pointing in a certain direction. Or there’s no standing, grabbing of armrest, pivoting on the paralyzed leg with the bad knee, until I am over the wheelchair cushion drop zone. Oh, and this is, more or less, the difference between being able to spend a night on my own…or not. Most people mean something else when they say they can’t get out of bed in the morning.

Still, in utter defiance of declining neurology and persisting pandemic, we keep making travel plans. Washington DC in May for our friend’s opera premiere, and never mind the UK, Europe in the autumn, followed by winter sailing around Southeast Asia. Much of my focus is simply on Sonoma County, Healdsburg. It has been three years since Jane’s church had a weekend in the spectacular retreat center owned by the Episcopal Diocese of San Francisco. It’s a glorious, indescribably peaceful experience. To sit on a bluff overlooking the Russian River Valley, drinking one’s coffee and watching the morning hot air balloons rise. What’s not to like?

Sadly, tantalizingly, the December rains reactivated many of Healdsburg’s tiny streams that flow into the river a half mile away from the bluff. Salmon eggs hatched. Tiny fish begin fighting their way toward the sea. And then it stopped. Drought returned. And the rest is meteorological history. And we did it. Yes, this is beyond my personal ken and control. And a reasonable argument could be made in favor of…it’s about time to exit this mortal coil before the destruction of creation worsens. But I guess I’m not there. In fact, late in life I am even coming to understand the wisdom in appreciating what there is as long as there is…. Fortunately, there is reading. And here I find much delight. 

Ezra Klein, talks a little fast, but he is a young guy, so one can forgive him…and I am young enough in spirit to tune in to his ever-increasing podcasts, these days focusing mostly on Ukraine. So, yes, this is part of what there is. And then, of course, there is always the urban agricultural experience. Twice a week we now have enough broccolini for an actual meal. Not to mention the blooming lettuce crop. It’s all happening, as Simon and Garfunkel once said of the zoo…in my own personal botanical zoo. Way to go, I have to tell myself.

So, I may decline and despair, yet I have to admit, there is still quite a bit worthwhile. Enough to keep me going. Which says plenty.