Where was I headed on that particular day?  A government office?  A medical appointment?  Or even one of my rare job interviews?  I could not have been anticipating much reward at the end of my schlep through Soho.  Yet in 1971, I was still walking everywhere, the wheelchair two decades away.  London's maze of narrow streets and theaters and pubs and restaurants was not the ultra-pricey place it is today.  In fact, the district had some authentically seedy and risqué Read more [...]

I am in the queue at Peets, wondering why, vaguely considering the possibility of being elsewhere when the man behind me has the temerity to speak.  He asks me if I ever run over people's toes.  Now and then, I tell him, miffed at the question.  What he says is slithering with perspicacity, after all.  The man is all smiles as he adds 'it's a good way to meet people.'  He has substantial body odor about him, nothing oppressive.  And in another context one would hardly Read more [...]

I do not consider the day's options rolling down the wheelchair ramp at 9 AM, only that there are too many.  An embarrassment of riches, a wise person would say.  I am not a wise person.  At best, and only recently, it does occur to me that my need to daily construct a life may not be a failure, but a something else.  The word 'opportunity' does come to mind, but there is an overly sunny cast to this which, in this land of success gurus, one must view askance.  Never mind.  Read more [...]

Rejoice, for life is good, and the colon is good.  And no man should travel down that alimentary road unless he is a vindaloo curry or a Panko-breaded sand dab made by Jane.  At least not for the next 10 years.  In short, the colonoscopy is behind me.  No pun intended.What lingers, of course, are the questions.  There are so many.  Why did I not envision doing this with Jane at my side?  She was there, of course, and it made all the difference.  Most important, Read more [...]

The perspective, if one can call it that, has much to do with What Fierce Bodily Manipulation comes next, the larger picture ever elusive, although its presence can also be felt...or else why bother?  I am referring to Rolfing, of course.  Life, if you think about it, moves through a series of -ings.  Much of infancy is dominated by spitting, not to mention crying and far from infrequent farting.  Over time, this progresses to running.  Somewhat later, petting.  Followed Read more [...]

People say they are paralyzed.  They can't decide.  They are paralyzed with fear.  They can't take a step.  What's worse is being paralyzed with paralysis.  And the latter is enough to make a person roll about a suburban center at maximum warp, in the battery sense.  Since my time of wheelchairing about the Menlo Park streets can now be reckoned in years, let us conclude that this is part of my life plan, certainly my occupation.  It is illuminating, that is the Read more [...]