San Francisco is still...

...San Francisco, and hopefully it always will be. Prices are high here, higher than most of us can afford unless we work around the clock, inherit a bundle, or get lucky in the lottery (read: stock market). Me, I've scrabbled enough the past 37 years to remain here, but I'm not quite sure how much longer that will be the case.

This blog is a non-profit personal journal. It's not meant to earn money, or promote me or my writing, or anything of that nature.

I just write about my life, family, friends, and work in ways that are meant to help others deal with the emotional roller-coaster we all face. It has been gratifying the past 24 hours to have heard from so many other friends of Ken Kelley's, many of whom shared different parts of Ken's life from those I knew about. That's the thing about Ken; he was a wondrously complex man, with an unending appetite for meeting new people.

But he also always stayed loyal to those of us from Michigan who had known him since his teens. He and I did so many favors for one another over the years it would be impossible to keep score, not that either of us ever would have cared about that. Nevertheless, it's true that we lost track of one another during his final, tragic two years.

But, those who know me best know the reasons we were out of open contact had a lot less to do with Ken's problems than with mine. In fact, near the end, we were in touch, we exchanged some telephone and email messages, and he knew he had my support and faith that he could overcome his difficulties.

At the same time, I was going through my own ordeals, and withdrawing from practically everybody for a period of time felt like a necessary step toward self-preservation.

I have a friend who says as long as you are in someone else's thoughts, you are not really alone. Ken remained in mine to the end, and he remains there now. I say this because among all the lovely emails and comments I have received, thanking me for spreading the word about Ken's passing when the mainstream press remained strangely silent, one lone anonymous writer sent me a vicious, bitter diatribe, which I declined to allow to be posted to this blog. (I screen all "comments," mainly to avoid self-promoters and porn-posters, of which there are many.)

Anonymous comments are welcome here in order to protect a person's privacy; but not to protect hate speech by a coward. Whether you agree or disagree with my views is never an issue for me. (Check out the many attacks on my politics posted here by Danogram.)
The truth is I love debate, welcome criticism, and hold a diverse array of opinions, the sum of which could never be reduced to a simple niche of standard ideology.

Anyone willing to openly post about his emotional life the way I do is going to rub some the wrong way. Just speaking the truth about Ken's life offends some people, who would prefer that his many flaws be ignored in light of his many strengths. I don't see people that way -- as teflon images of purity. People are messy, complicated, unpredictable, prone to error, yet capable in the end of great acts of compassion.

Bitterness is a state many older people seem to sink into, which is sad. It's not my fate, hopefully; my messages ultimately boil down to just one word: Hope.

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