The seal lay on its back, taking in the sights and sounds of the inlet, flippers lolling lazily out of the water, missing only a tiki drink by its side. Just ahead a dolphin frolicked in the inlet, breaching between the party cruisers and commercial boats offering their discounts for burials at sea, among other rental options.

Our governor here in California has declared a state of emergency over the recent outbreak of 23 major wildfires. Homes have been destroyed; air quality has deteriorated. Yesterday, the temperature hit 102, and our local utility has warned of rolling blackouts.

I should have seen this coming, but what can you say about a guy who’s always thought the oncoming train was the light at the end of the tunnel.

As I continue to age, I’m losing more and more hair. That’s only natural, and I have no problem with it. What I’m having increasing problems with is that the hair that I have left is becoming more and more annoying and irritating..

For Carol and me, irrational fears of coronavirus have replaced our irrational fears of dementia from what I like to call our “everyday” neuroses.

Board games have never mimicked real life, at least my real life. I have no history of wanting to be a tycoon that would have informed me of how to win at Monopoly. As far as Settlers  of Catan, had I ever been a real life settler, I’m quite sure I would have perished with the first frost.

I’ve come to realize that I’ve been living the dream for some time now. You’d think that being cut off from the amazing opportunity to travel abroad afforded to Carol and me courtesy of Delta Airlines’ Surviving Spouse benefits would leave me inconsolably frustrated, but it has not.

Of all the things Carol doesn’t understand about me (contained in her book, What Have I Gotten Myself Into, Vol. 1-,one that confounds even her broadest allowances for abnormal behavior is my attitude toward haircuts.

I was fishing around for an idea for a blog the other day. I wanted to keep it personal, but Carol, I think, was right that I leave My battles with ear wax between me and my PCP. Then, while daydreaming through the coronavirus news one evening, it suddenly struck me:

The second house I lived in became a recurring and enduring nightmare long after we had moved. My first house was a row home in South Philly, which marked my brief Return to the City phase, back in the late 70s.