Tumble Forward

I bumped up against a speed bump at the Desert Inn & Suites in Anaheim on Monday night. And fell right on my face. And, as it turns out, my left knee.

I was walking around, went back to my room, and called Dawn to help. I was bleeding profusely from the mouth, and immediately felt inside, even before lifting myself up off the concrete, to feel to see if my teeth were still there. They were, but one felt different.

This photo of the leg is three-and-a-half days later, Thursday. I would've taken a photo when it was the worst on Monday night around midnight, but (1) I couldn't reach the camera, and (2) I had other things to think of. Now that I know nothing is broken -- thanks to the doctor I saw on Tuesday -- I will just let everything heal.

I have to replace my glasses. I have to replace that tooth. But otherwise, I should be good. Walking is a little easier every day.

Gary Danko

No, Gary Danko isn't the latest pitcher for the Oakland A's. He's one of the world's finest chefs. And we went to this 5-star restaurant last night to celebrate our 3rd wedding anniversary. It was a heavenly evening.

After all day of going, "uh, uh" when trying to describe what we ate for which course, here is the Taster's Menu:


Glazed Oysters with Osetra Caviar, Zucchini Pearls and Lettuce Cream

Horseradish Crusted Salmon Medallion with Dilled Cucumbers
and Mustard Sauce

Seared Filet of Beef with Yukon Potatoes, Curried Cauliflower,
Cumin-Cilantro Butter and Tamarind Glaze

A Selection of Farmhouse and Artisanal Cheeses

Baked Chocolate Soufflé with Two Sauces

While some would argue that such a menu in the hands (mouth?) of someone who doesn't even know what she's tasting is, well, wasted. I can see their point. But I can assure such naysayers that I savored every bite, that I enjoyed every minute with my sweetie.

Favorite moment? The service was exquisite. Everything was pitch-perfect, timed wonderfully. But perhaps the best moment was the 4th course, when they rolled the very large cheese cart toward us, as we're already stuffed, knowing we would have to make room for four very special bites of cheese. It was quite an experience.

One doesn't do this every day. I understand that. It'll be one of my best memories.

Petula Clark at the LV Hilton

Tipped off by the IPCS newsletter (International Petula Clark Society), of which I am a member, I was able to buy one ticket to see Petula Clark at the Las Vegas Hilton in early May.

I promptly informed Sweetie that I would accompany her that weekend to her gig in Henderson, Nevada.

I used the GPS to get from a picnic in Henderson to the mighty Hilton, going over no less than 4 freeways and a lot of commute traffic. But I found myself there, hunting for a parking space for the rental car in what seemed a very busy parking garage on Paradise Road, next to the Hilton. Granted it was Saturday night, but it was early Saturday night, and, besides, wasn't this a recession?

I was to find out very soon that (1) there was an international boxing match going on in town, and people would watch from each of the hotels, as well as gamble on its outcome at the sports book, and (2) there was a wedding going on at precisely the moment I parked.

But all of those are good reasons to go early, which I did. I picked up my Will Call ticket, used the match ticket attached to it to play a little blackjack, and finally went to the auditorium.

The Hilton auditorium brought back a lot of memories. My brother and I saw Elvis there. It's funny, I can't remember the year. Maybe mid-'70's? It was certainly before they remodeled the place. When we went that first time, all of those luxurious booths were in place, and all the celebrities were in them. We, of course, were wayyyy in the balcony, at a little table high above the stage, and I was trying to maneuver through my drinks they demanded I buy.

This night, however, I was third row center, a marvelous seat. And you can bet everybody there in those seats down front was a real fan. Well, except for the 4 people behind me; they certainly knew Petula, could name a song or two, but they didn't fall into the rabid category. Everybody else around me, however, were shaking hands, re-introducing themselves to each other. Most were from the IPCS, and had met each other at other events. Two couples had flown in from England to see her.

Her set was marvelous. Half the songs I had never heard her sing live. Oh, yes, I recognized all but one, but only from CDs. And she managed to squeeze in many of her hits, most in truncated form. And she told some marvelous stories: one about filming with Fred Astaire, and the other about playing the piano for Charlie Chaplin in Switzerland after she had recorded his song ("This Is My Song") and it had become a hit.

At one point a fellow down front yelled, "Downtown!" Petula glared at him, and mentioned something about, well, if I did that, we could all just pick up and go home, couldn't we? I thought that was very funny. Of course, she got to Downtown at the end, and entreated us all to sing that magic word of the refrain.

Come to think of it, she also asked for our help with a few other songs as well. And since we all knew the words, that was a lot of fun.

Each time I see her I wonder if there will ever be another time. This time seemed special because it was layered on other memories. And because, indeed, at her age, I wonder if we'll ever see her live again.

The Perfect Game

I couldn't sleep last night. There may have been many reasons, but this one kept coming to the front of my brain: My Oakland Athletics threw a perfect game.

Not just a no-hitter. A perfect game. Viva Dallas Braden!

I watched the guy for some 5 years now. I remember him carrying the candy bucket for the pitchers, arriving eagerly at the bullpen before the game. I remember seeing the bill that was so straight, all the birds from The Birds could perch on it, thinking, who is this kid? I remember watching him take the freight train from Sacramento to Oakland, bomb out, and then go back again. But there was something about this kid.... you were pulling for him.

At the age of 26, he has now arrived.

I didn't go to the game. I had tickets, but I gave them to our son, Jamie. I messaged him some no-hitter trivia facts in the 7th inning: Dave Stewart threw the last no-hitter in 1990. I didn't dream the game would be perfect. That's so hard, nearly impossible, and depends upon 9 guys being absolutely perfect. But, yet, they were.

I had the game on as I did household chores. Those chores got left behind once we reached the 6th and there were still no hits by the powerful Tampa Bay Rays. Awesomeness was approaching. I cried when the final out was made, Pennington to Barton, and joined with my teammates in jumping up and down.

I still haven't gotten over it. It will probably be the only one I'll ever witness, even though it wasn't live. The event is still awesome, even a day later. This is why you watch baseball, to watch young men do extraordinary things. Especially on the Little Team That Could. This is why I'm an Oakland A's fan.

Report from San Diego

I thought yesterday was a nice moment for a change, the day when my brother would be moved to a convalescent hospital. He was, but for only one day. Today he was moved back to the hospital because of a high fever and loss of affect (lethargic).

This doesn't look good. I thought by now, he'd be moving around more, more responsive, answering questions. Not only does he not make any sense when he talks, he talks a lot less now, if at all. Which wasn't really true when I visited him a week ago. He was talking up a storm, but not making any sense, literally.

I wait by the phone.

My New Best Friend

My new best friend is the GPS. Which stands for, which works how.... Yeah, yeah, yeah, who cares. It works.

In the last year I've been to Orlando, Phoenix, Las Vegas. Driving all the way from Las Vegas to Oakland (in 8 hours, thank you). Currently in San Diego. I would be lost, literally, without my new friend.

Recalculating, recalculating...

I would constantly turn in the wrong direction, or misread a sign and turn here instead of there. Or, unable to get over to the freeway desired because of the horrible traffic, as happened to me in Phoenix during spring training, I kept going. "Recalculating, recalculating," the computer would tell me. And then it told me to take the next exit, took me around the block to the entry to the new freeway, and told me to get on it. Twice. I obeyed.

In San Diego to visit my brother in the hospital, I had to get from the San Diego Airport to the motel in Chula Vista, then to the hospital in that same town, then to Coronado to visit my nephew, then back again. True, for several of those hospital visits, my nephew picked me up at the motel, but for the others, I was on my own.

When I visited my nephew at his home, his 13-year-old son Danny asked him for permission to program his new GPS. Of course, at the time Danny was doing his English homework and looking for any distraction. "Maybe this weekend," replied his dad. I shook my head, and told both of them, "It doesn't need programming. It works right out of the box." Dismayed but undeterred, Danny said, "but I still have to program it in the car." I shook my head again. "Very simple. Plug it in, put in the address, and go."

Recalculating, recalculating. You gotta love it.

Visiting the Contagious

With Scott's help, I was able to visit Marvin the last two nights. We didn't go into the room, however, but it didn't make much sense to do that. He is highly contagious in the MICU at Sharp. He was sleeping, not communicating much. But today was a different story.

I am on my way back to Oakland, so I thought I'd give it another try. I actually found parking at the hospital -- a minor miracle, it seems -- and walked in, got my visitor's badge, and went to the fifth floor to the MICU, the contagious wing of the ICU. He talked to me, looked at me, but his responses didn't make much sense. Still, I was happy for the contact.

They have been talking about moving Marvin to the other ICU, the less-intense ICU, but the cardiologist won't sign off on the move because the drugs he's on keeps giving him arrhythmia. He's receiving great care, so what do we care?

I talked with James, the PA, again this morning. He asked me some questions: Did he get a flu or H1N1 shot? I don't know but I doubt it. Does he have an advanced care directive or living will? Not as far as we know. Believe me, I said, we've been talking about this the last few nights. However, he may have a will in his computer; whether or not it's been activated by a lawyer, I do not know. Ricky will work on the computer in the future to try to dig it up.

Right now, though, that doesn't seem all that necessary. He's improving.