Why do so many of my urban tales begin at Civic Center BART Station? On this particular day it was hard enough to remember to get off there. So confusing, so many public-minded meetings in one week -- and me being 77 and all, quite taxing for what’s left of the neurons. But I did manage to alight at the proper point, make my way to the surface and experience San Francisco at its daylit darkest. After all, it’s almost the shortest day of the year, the lowest sun of the year, and the absolute Read more [...]

Jane and I have a comedy routine going.  For example. Off to Canyon Market, I was, and what was I going to get? Well, after having suggested that we go out…out being anything that is not inside this writer’s mind…Jane reminded me of the once-frozen chicken curry we were having tonight. And is there even the slightest intimation of something wrong with said chicken curry? No. And, for once, we were even having it with brown rice. My wife avoids brown rice. Why? Not weight. Jane, weighing Read more [...]

“Let your partner influence you,” advised some marriage manual I read in conjunction with some marriage. And, one must confess, it is excellent advice. Not always applicable. But handy to have around. And actually, I am beyond the influence state. I have accomplished the supreme Black Belt level marital state…of successfully divining the psychic condition of my partner. At times. Jane was full of generous offers this day after Thanksgiving. Most of them spurred by my requests. And it all Read more [...]

I have this problem. Tell me about the latest social ill, particularly one affecting me, and I will set out down a long road toward righting the wrong…. (Voice recognition uncannily misinterpreted “righting” as “writing.”) I tend to embark on writing projects, as though I am not disabled and will live forever. Trust me, there is substantial, verifiable information suggesting that mortality is a real thing and, yes, a bullet high in the spinal cord will, if it doesn't kill you, limit your Read more [...]

Jane and I had just emerged from Bulrusher, the enormously satisfying play currently on offer at the Berkeley Rep, and autumn was in the air, an amiable citizenry was upon the streets and, unbeknownst to us, a BART train was all but waiting at the station to take us home to Glen Park. The play deals with issues of race in a town where there were few issues, racial or otherwise, and at a time when the level of violence was lower in much of the land, including the land depicted on stage. Mendocino Read more [...]

It was wonderful to see Bello Coffee booming post-pandemic, and to see it where it is, Glen Park, San Francisco. And to see Jane sitting opposite me for once. She isn’t too much for going out these days, our Jane. When she isn’t boosting her biome, she is blasting away at things carbohydrate in an effort to stave off pre-diabetes. The latter being so utterly absurd as to force me into eye-rolling mode, even now, hours later.  Jane is as skinny as a rail, and a narrow gauge railway rail Read more [...]