How do you know when you are really home? When small things you take for granted go terribly wrong. Oh, let us not exaggerate. Not ‘terribly' as much as unexpectedly. In truth while on the road, home can start looking good. After all in San Francisco, I have a shower that seems less likely to break my osteoporotic hip than those in most hotels. I have a bed that, much of the time, frees me from its nocturnal grip with a predictable amount of neuromuscular effort. Not to mention ramps to take me Read more [...]

Even paradise has its frustrating moments. Take Santa Barbara, where I am currently ensconced. I awoke in the middle of the night, very aware of being somewhat trapped in a foreign bed. Although mostly the latter is a simple byproduct of general irritations. I am old. Everything is a bit harder. And more than that, I am conscious of everything wrong with my life in San Francisco. What's wrong? Well, in the context of seeing things as they are…that is to say from a distance and with perspective…I Read more [...]

These mornings I awaken about an hour too early feeling…when I sit up and tune in…angry, really angry. And there is an inchoate sense behind this. Angry about what? Seemingly everything. My disability. The nation in its Trumpian stage. Or just plain age. And this point throws logic on his head. For someone who very narrowly escaped traumatic death at age 21, one would think that the next half-century would be, more or less, gravy. Apparently not. Meanwhile, having a desultory go at today's Read more [...]

It's the worst of times and the best of times…when Jane is away. What's best? I am forced to confront reality. The latter involves a certain amount of aging, vis-à-vis neuromuscular decline, mixed with a very large dose of fear. My brother and sister-in-law stayed with me during this exciting couple of days. And the worst…or best…excitement came on the first morning alone. Well hardly alone. After all, Richard and Debbie were upstairs. But after waking up early and brooding over the question Read more [...]

Do note that in these (somewhat) United States of America my city is among the few in which one can handily get about without a car. So why is it that a car currently dominates much of my emotional life? The answer doubtless lives in my own subconscious. Even without complications, cars pop up in dreams. Driving them seems to represent the course of life itself…in control, out-of-control, able to stop or unable. Whatever. In my more corporeal life, the entire population of San Francisco gets on Read more [...]

I just stumbled across Ralph Nader in the pages of a fairly recent copy of The Sun, and the old crusader seems surprisingly full of optimism…and well grounded. He doesn't believe the nation is really all that divided. In fact, he sees areas of general agreement…such as breaking up the banks, the ones that are ‘too big to fail’…and goes on to cite others. So, what the hell. If he can believe, I can believe. Which brings me back to trains. Honestly, the Amtrak dining car is a downright Read more [...]