The weather doesn't help. San Francisco is renowned for its non-summers. And I suppose this is really the stuff of Mark Twain, unaltered in 150 years of writing and personal accounts. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels grim. The nation could by all reports get itself out of a downward virus spiral within a month of disciplined measures. Two months to really change course. This, everyone knows, isn't going to happen anytime soon. But it's the reason that dawns afresh each day, depressing afresh…to Read more [...]

Day of the Dread. Mine was yesterday, and despite the nominal similarity to Mexico's doubtless superior version, no one was celebrating but me. I had the feeling all Sunday that something horrible would happen. To me, to my body in particular. Dread, I am learning, has a power all its own. It is among those experiences somewhat glibly labeled as posttraumatic.  Observations that are provided on background only, as any good reporter would understand…but in no way serve to accurately Read more [...]

It involves long hours in the greenhouse, a glassy enclosure I have dubbed "the conservatory." It means breathing deeply. It means taking care to limit news after midafternoon. It means a constant background level of anxiety, only occasionally alleviated, exact source and duration unclear. It's the coronavirus experience, of course…coupled with the America of the Trump era. The latter was summed up this week by a New York Times columnist: like being on a long car ride with a drunk at the wheel. Read more [...]