In a way, Karen holds the key. She, the aging druggie, toothless, frail and shambling, Tom's friend, perhaps his only one.... Which is hardly true, for was I not his friend? Perhaps complicated by being his tenant. And a few other things. Like a more normal existence. And even this may not be a fair assessment. Certainly, Karen had access to his apartment. Were I able-bodied the same might be said for me. Or perhaps not. Surely he must have known. The general condition of his place could Read more [...]

The clouds boil over the Berkeley campus, black and churning...and perhaps with rain, even that seems possible, although extremely unlikely in the California August. And the hills tilt, the whole setting foreshortened. Truly, the university once seemed much farther from the town's center, and the slopes not quite so steep. My recollections of Berkeley are either inaccurate or undergoing upheaval. Jane and I are visiting for a few days, staying on the main commercial street, Shattuck Avenue in a beautifully Read more [...]

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 [...]

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 [...]

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 [...]