Some Words About the Fallen

The earth shook Tuesday and the sun burned out. All the trees fell down and the ocean dried up. The sky went black and my heart broke.

Now I enter into the official record the name of a great spirit.

Pico Barcio.

Kitty Boo Boo, Tumbleweed, Boo Boo Kitty, Shabu-Shabu, Snookums, Boo Boo Snookums, Cuddly Wuddly Boo Boo Snookums, Sneaky-Sneak, Pico Boo Boo, Stinky-Binky, Princess, Sweet Baby.

Favorite Things: Stretchy-Stretch, Sunny Spot, Poofy-Poof, Comfy-Cozy Spot, Lap Time, Bweky-Bwekfast, Munchy-Crunchies, Crunchie-Munchies, Back-and-Forth, Up the Stairs, Outside, Bewy-Wub, Foot Rub, Sleepy Sleep.

Best Friends: Audrey, Elijah, Phillip.

Remember May fourth. Pick a purple flower on May 4th and give it to a true friend. May 4th is Pico Day. The last day I got to spend with my friend.

We took a walk together in the park with Audrey. We cried together and hugged each other. We slept on the floor side-by-side with Eli.

We looked out at the bay together and wondered how it was possible to hurt this much inside.

Now there is a sadness in me, and in our home.

I get up to give you your vitamins but you're not waiting for me anymore on your little pillow. I see you in my mind's eye looking up at me, purring. I see you at the door trying to get outside. I see you curled up in a ball in the sunny spot on the couch, on the bed, on the table. I see you looking out the screen door back on Prospect Street in Indianapolis. I see you sitting in the grass back on Gunnison Street in Chicago watching the bugs whizz by. I see you purring on the rug in Marcy Village. I see you flipping in the air trying to attack my hand back in Houston. What a Globetrotter you were, Pico. You always went along with me. You were a true friend.

Thank you for accompanying me in this life and on this journey. Thank you for coming out here with Audrey and Eli and me to California. Thank you for visiting the Salt Flats with us. Thank you for walking on the beach with us in Monterey. Thank you for your gentle, loving presence every day. Thank you. I love you.

I'm sorry we didn't have more time. We were not ready to say goodbye. But I know you were in pain. I see your face in the stars looking down upon me and smiling.

You were a good kitty.

Give a hug to Dweezil. Jump up on Lillian's lap. Rub up against Bob's leg. If you have a chance, look up Rudy and Patches and Heathcliff and Olive and Nemo. Tell them we all said hi.

And remember this Pico: I will never forget you, Princess. I am thankful for your companionship, and I am devastated by this loss.

Tell My Wife I Love Her Very Much

When there isn't as much time as I would like

for roses and champagne

I rely on poets to explain

to my lover that I adore her.

That I miss her.

That we work too much and kiss too little.

That I think about crawling around with her on the floor, rolling around with her in the sand, running around with her in the hills, spinning around with her in the waves, and it makes me smile to see her face in my mind, her eyes looking into mine.

I want to tell her I love her, but I've told her so many times. I want to make it different this time, in some small way.

Remember this song, baby? My sister sang it to us at our wedding reception in Key West.



Remember the song I sang to you? My mom, laughing and crying at the same time, told me not to quit my day job. (I don't think I even had a day job!)



That was a smart thing I did, asking you to spend your life with me.

Thank you for saying yes.

I love you!

Keep those snow pictures coming!

Back when we used to live in Indiana we spent as much time as possible with our friends and family who kept us sane despite all the crazy happenin's back in that state.

In particular, one group of awesome folk we hung out with alot was named Eric, Maya and Rigby.

Here are the only pictures I have of Eric and Maya:



Rigby was Eric and Maya's son. He spent most of his time looking for the ball and asking where the ball was.

Here's the ball:


While Rigby was looking for the ball, Eric and Maya and Audrey and I spent our time looking for ways to move out of Indiana.

We talked a lot about how much we hated snow and how four months of dreariness and grey slush and constantly running the furnace made all the other things we didn't like about Indiana, like the crooked politicians, the coal plants, the arsenic in the air, the polluted water, the industrial pig farms, the KKK, etc, seem so much worse.

Then one day Audrey and I moved to San Francisco. A few months later Eric and Maya moved to Washington D.C. where cool people like Eric and Maya and Rigby are desperately needed.

Then two days ago Eric sent me this picture (below) of Rigby (left):


Eric is an engineer, as you can probably tell.

Then another person who moved away from Indiana, my sister Cyndi who moved to Dallas, sent me this picture of the weather in Dallas this morning:


Cyndi said only six of the 25 people in her office came in to work because of the three tenths of an inch of snow they got.

Cyndi of course went to work because it takes at least fourteen inches of snow to make a Midwesterner consider the possibility of not driving.

Anyway where I'm going with all this is that I've been thinking alot lately about snow and friends and family and how our friends the Daniel family in Chicago have been buried in snow for the past 3 months and how my dad and Audrey's family are still back in Indiana and how they have gotten a bunch of snow this year, I mean a BUNCH of snow, and how it seems to be snowing everywhere the people I know have moved to, and how it never snows in San Francisco, EVER!

Then I started thinking about how i just recently realized the band Journey is from San Francisco, and how I like a lot of Journey songs.

Then I thought I sure would like to rub this all in everybody's face somehow, I mean in a loving way.

So for all of you trapped in the drudgery of winter, wherever you are, here is a message of love to you from Audrey and me and Pico and Eli:

Public Displays of Affection

A Shameless Expression of Joy

To all my loved ones back in the Midwest who are literally freezing right now, I offer the following, with apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

Ocean Beach, how do I love thee?
Let me count the ways...

A Heffelfinger by any other name...

A little bit of love goes a long way.

Thank you, friends, for all of your soulful comments and for the loving vibes you put out into the universe about Pico.

You have friends in high places.

Against the odds, we found a new vet on New Years Eve, got an appointment the same day, and now Pico appears to be recovering nicely from what Dr. Perry Heffelfinger diagnosed as an intestinal bacterial infection from an unknown cause.

With an name like Perry Heffelfinger you pretty much have no choice but to enter the field of small animal care.

Despite my initial disappointment, upon arriving at Arguello Pet Hospital, of learning that Dr. Heffelfinger was not three inches tall and did not have a high, squeaky voice, I was quickly converted to a major fan by her smiling eyes and gentle bedside manner. This angel in a lab coat performed with integrity, inquisitiveness, compassion and, as you might predict, a sense of humor.

I am in wonder at how so often a mission embarked upon in love ends well.

So grateful am I that this wonderful vet has made our acquaintance, and so relieved am I that she saved my friend, that I hereby vow in earnest to never again, outside of this blog post, attempt to get a cheap laugh out of the name Perry Heffelfinger.

Thanks, Dr. H. This is for you.

Looking into the distance.

As my dad points out, work is called work because they have to pay you to do it.

Tell the youngsters that there are days, believe it or not, when adults would actually rather be tending to work than what else happens to be going on.

Today Pico is experiencing a bump in the road of perfect health. In my pain and worry I made the mistake of looking on YELP for reviews of San Francisco Veterinarians. According to the internet reviewers of the world, every business sucks. Every restaurant has horrible food, every store has terrible customer service and every vet is mean and uncaring.

Apparently only the disappointed rabble feel inclined to review things. The satisfied majority pushes onward toward other exciting, rewarding experiences which they will no doubt also not YELP about.

What's a worry wart to do?

My friend is sick and neither of us have a reliable relationship with a doctor yet.

I ask that anyone who feels pity for vulnerable kitties and melting tough-guys do one of the following for Pico today:

1) Say a little prayer that she quickly returns to her happy, pooping on the floor self;

2) Put "the vibe" out that everything turns out okay; or

3) Just call me or email me with a kind word.

What is the point of companionship except that it provides comfort when things go awry?

I am happily putting Pico in the car now to drive to the Inner Richmond, to the one vet that has an appointment available on this short work day.

We do all we can do, and the rest we have to wait and see.

Audrey begins her new job today.

And I have a second interview at one o'clock for a dream job of my own.

Future comes calling. We push toward something newish, marching ever toward healthier choices. Nothing putrid can last.

In the shadows clinging to their myths are the left-behind scowlers, waiting for history to repeat itself, watching stink-eyed as the present descends upon them and they slip into irrelevance.

I can see Audrey standing beside her desk, laughing, listening, adoring her new friends at work.

I visualize my handshake with the President of my new company, fresh, crisp W2 forms being slid in front of me to sign.

But then something says, "What if not? What if no laughing? No handshake? No W2s?"

Cynicism is a form of mental retardation.

Religion is no cure, despite its promise of something in the next life worth sacrificing for. Implicit in that placebo is acquiescence that nothing in this life is.

Logic and reason also fall short, relying too much on perspective. What appears to be sensible might not be, depending on one's point of view.

The only cure for cynicism is sheer will.


Simply refuse to believe that everything will fail.

Take hold of the relics of love and implant them in some material way in your life. Take a picture of love when you see it.


Invent ways to sustain love's tiny, withering echoes. That's the cure.