Losing a Pet

Over on Bernal today, working with my ex-wife on those frustrating financial aid forms for the boys in Missoula, we were interrupted by 16-year-old Julia, who came out of her room crying. It turned out that one of her two pet rats was suddenly dead and she was feeling freaked out. I think his name was August.

Julia loves animals. She has two cats and (now) one rat. I think his name is Ally. She walks dogs at the SPCA on weekends. She cares for neighbors' pets -- dogs, cats, and rabbits.

While we dealt with the cold body, she put on her sunglasses and took off on a walk. A walk can be a good thing after a loss. You can feel the sun and the wind on your face, hear the birds, see the leaves move, perhaps a hawk fly, and appreciate anew the meaning of life -- and death. At least you sense that you are thankfully still alive.

When she got back home she saw us in the backyard, with a shovel and a fresh patch of dirt. There was some seaglass, and a big stone that she can paint.

It is so hard for a child to lose a pet. It may be even more difficult for an adult to lose a pet. It is so hard for all of us to lose each other.

I am hoping she is feeling some comfort that her parents dealt with the remains of her loss while she was away. I also hopes she takes advantage of my offer to pay for dinner tonight -- a dinner of her choice that she can order from a service out here -- with her mother.

You know that with your kids you are always working on borrowed time, because you will only be around for so long to help them along. So at moments like today you just hope for the best.

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An Old Man's Thoughts

I realize that in current American society being 68 does not necessarily connote that I am near the end of my life. And I truly hope that I am not. My plan is to be able to work full-time for seven more years. I pretty much like my job, though lately it has become complicated. And stressful. But if so, I will have accumulated and saved the amount of money I want to be able to leave to my children and their children. And I also wouldn't mind living into my 80s, although it would have been nice to have done so with a partner, other than on my own. But if I am healthy enough, perhaps enjoying planting things and watching my grandchildren grow up, after I retire in 2022, would give me some measure of pleasure. But of course that would deplete what I would leave them, which is a tradeoff I have to ponder. Plus I have no safe and affordable place to live, so all my savings could easily disappear if I stay in San Fransisco.

But I also know several other things that may not allow this scenario to come true. The heart infection I had as a child that went undiagnosed did a bunch of damage. The diseases I had in the Peace Corps in 20s did a bunch more. Several doctors told me to not expect to live longer than I have already lived. And I have not necessarily done what I should have done, with my lifestyle choices, to earn that privilege.

So I figure it is time to start to wrap things up. My body has been hurting a lot lately, on all sides -- my front, my sides, my back. Everything hurts. Maybe my time is coming to an end?

I have started writing my will. It is on my laptop. I need to get this official somehow. I need a lawyer. Hopefully all I have is a bad back. But who knows. It could well be worse than that. Internal not external. I am on my own. I guess I will call my doctor on Monday. I have a very bad feeling. I hope I am wrong.

This is what it is like to grow old without a partner. Maybe those who die young are actually the lucky ones? They never have to confront these difficult moments. If I had a partner, she would be with me during this ordeal.

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Birthday Dinner

With my youngest at a Thai restaurant on Mission Street. We spoke by cellphone with her two brothers in Missoula while waiting for our food. Heard from my older three kids as well, and scores of friends from Facebook. My staff got a cake at work, which was sweet.

No complaints. Lots of love. I appreciate it all.

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Fog Drifts In Tonight

On the eve of my 68th birthday, a typical San Francisco night. I suppose that is appropriate. I stood watching it tonight, ever so slowly wrapping over this city.

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There She Is!

Number 43 in the center of the action today in Saratoga. Her team lost, 0-2, but played hard. She played well. I'm conscious that she may not choose to keep playing much longer, especially once she moves away to bearding school in Napa this fall.

So I am enjoying these opportunities while they last.

Happy Birthday, Youngest Son!

Dylan is back in Missoula and Aidan is taking him out to dinner at the Italian place we ate at last October. It's a short walk from campus. They both sound well. I love the idea of them celebrating his birthday at that restaurant.

With his beard and his tattoos (long narratives on the inside of both arms), and his height, people may mistake him for older than he actually is. But what a brilliant, charming, loving young man he truly is.

And here the birthday boy is, in real time! (Thanks, Aidan.)


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Rainy Day

 I woke up this morning to the comforting sound of a soft rain outside. This parched area really needs water in any form we can get it, as we are in the midst of an historic drought.

With my youngest son at the baseball game Thursday night, when news that some rain might be coming came our way. He loves the rain. I love the rain. These days, almost everyone in California loves the rain...

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