“How terribly strange to be 70,” sang Simon to Garfunkel or Garfunkel to Simon. It doesn’t matter for the lyrics were so preternaturally middle-of-the-road and and so indefinite in their shelf life, not to mention their meaning, that damn if they didn’t pop into my head just this afternoon. Mind you, the strangest thing about pushing 70 is that it’s a lot like pushing 60, not to mention 30. Objectively, there is a demonstrable diminishment of balance, and there is a slowing of reflexes, Read more [...]

How can things feel out of control in such a general, pervasive sense? And are they? I can only point to recent experience and anecdotal evidence. First, there is the driving thing. It comes and goes, the motorist mojo. So whenever I hit the road...the road tends to hit back. A case in point, yesterday's trip to Diamond Heights. Yes, this San Francisco neighborhood has a bombastic ring. Jubilee Summit or Sapphire Peak would have sounded more modest. But, and I can vouch for this, Diamond Heights Read more [...]

It falls somewhere between dread and anxiety. While not quite constant, it is pervasive. To analyze this, to come to grips with it, there’s only one solution. Roll up my street, activate the ramp to my wheelchair van. And start the engine. Sit there. Let time pass. If this scenario sounds vaguely suicidal, that’s because it isn’t. No, there’s no hose running into the passenger cabin. There’s no hose at all. It’s just that death is on the mind. And why not? At age 68, this is to be expected. Read more [...]

It's confusing enough getting oriented in a new city...and even more confusing when the city is far from new...and one's memories are far from accurate. South of Market Area. Being Americans, we even have an acronym.  SOMA used to have a reliably post-industrial identity, but not now. These days parts of it have given over to designer warehouses. And the part where I was just yesterday has given over to software developers and New Age health consultants and my massage guy, Tony. Following our appointment Read more [...]

After my morning's labors are concluded...and they are, in one sense, substantial, consisting of physical therapy...I get on with the next challenge, my emotions. For reasons that are unknown, this often requires a brief escape from the premises. One need not go far. Destination Bakery, so aptly named, is only 100 meters down the hill. Not that I can get out the door without a bit of additional work, vis-à-vis dealing with the past. The recent past, that is, in the form of Ken, our contractor. Together, Read more [...]

Schedules...10 a.m. here, noon there...was it always thus? Yet from another perspective, I cannot account for the day. I seem to recall...and stress the word 'seem'...that human existence was much simpler. Perhaps this was the phase called childhood. I have discovered through one friend that another lives directly across the street from my new San Francisco home. So what to do? Well, here it must be conceded, the disability rears its human head. I cannot knock on Dick's door, which is up several Read more [...]