Update - September 26, 2026

 Happy Saturday!,

After two ventures home last week, I am pleased to say that much progress is apparent in the mold mitigation and accessible remodeling. I am cautiously optimistic that we will be back by next weekend.

Oh, did I write that out loud? Oh well.

Roxie has not complained too much about these constrained living quarters. But it was delightful to see her run around full-speed in the back yard yesterday.

My own running around is limited to a scooter and a wheelchair. The chair was provided free by Team Gleason, a nonprofit founded by former New Orleans Saints player Steve Gleason who was diagnosed with ALS in 2011. He still lives in New Orleans with his wife Michel and kids, and wrote an autobiography in 2024. What an inspiration!

Speaking of writing, I have shared My First Campaign with you. Please enjoy my nostalgic look at the 1976 State Assembly race in Marin/Sonoma — my first campaign.

My First Campaign

 In 1976, I joined my first political campaign. It had a few thousand dollars in the bank and a hundred volunteers on the streets. I was one of them.

There was no internet, no email, no social media. If we wanted a voter to know why Rick Raznikov should represent Marin and Sonoma in California’s 9th Assembly District, we had to walk up to that voter's door.

I was young. So was Rick. He was 29, a political science instructor at a local community college and already something of a veteran of the political upheavals of the 1960s. He had organized Young Democrats in Marin, worked for Robert F. Kennedy, and gone to the tumultuous 1968 Democratic convention in Chicago.

Now he was taking on incumbent Assemblyman Michael Wornum in the Democratic primary.

I did not know it then, but this was my introduction to something that would remain part of my life for the next half-century: the stubborn belief that ordinary citizens could make government better.

I recently came across a page from my hometown newspaper, the Novato Advance, from April 1976. There we were – not me personally, but the campaign I remember. The headline over a story about Raznikov could have been his campaign slogan: “People want more local control.” On the same page was an account of a debate with Wornum at a local high school gym.

What struck me was how recognizable the issues are to today’s voter.

People felt alienated from their government. They thought decisions affecting their lives were being made too far away. Raznikov attacked the proliferation of regional “super agencies.” He argued that Marin and Sonoma deserved a stronger voice over the Golden Gate Bridge and transit system.

He was also an environmentalist before environmentalism became a political industry. He supported California's 1976 nuclear safeguards initiative. He questioned why America was pouring enormous resources into nuclear power while investing comparatively little in solar energy. He talked about recycling not simply as environmental protection but as an industry that could create jobs.

But what fascinates me 50 years later isn't so much what Rick believed. It is how we tried to elect him.

By April, according to the Advance, the campaign had raised only about $5,000. Raznikov had been told that a competitive Assembly campaign would require something like $35,000.

His solution was people. His volunteers were walking precincts, distributing literature, and talking to voters. Campaign events included lots of coffee. Bumper stickers mattered. A volunteer standing on someone's porch mattered.

Today a campaign can spend thousands of dollars figuring out which version of an online advertisement is more likely to make someone click. Consultants divide voters into demographic slices. Fundraising emails arrive with apocalyptic subject lines. Candidates and paid influencers say nasty things about their opponents.

I don't romanticize 1976. Politics could be ugly then, too. Money mattered. Powerful interests existed. And our little insurgent campaign didn't defeat Wornum.

But something happens when campaigning requires one human being to stand in front of another. 

The Republican whose door you knock on might agree with your Democratic candidate about local control. The homeowner who disagrees with you about nuclear power might surprise you on conservation. Someone who intends to vote against your candidate might invite you inside and talk for 20 minutes.

The deeper lesson of my first campaign wasn't that grassroots candidates always win. They don't. It was that democracy is supposed to be participatory.

That lesson shaped much of what I have done since – working on environmental issues, clean transportation, and fighting for civil rights. Fifty years later, I still believe showing up matters. So does knowing the people on the other side of an issue well enough to understand why they disagree with you.

Rick Raznikov lost that primary. He came back and challenged Wornum again two years later and lost again. Yet he remained involved in Marin civic life for decades.

I have worked on a lot of causes since 1976. I've seen campaigns become vastly more expensive.

This year’s Assembly race in Marin and Sonoma has already seen more than a million dollars spent, not by the candidates themselves, but by the billionaire-backed Grow California PAC. That includes $753,000 spent to defeat the progressive Democrat Jackie Elward and another $307,000 to elect the conservative Democrat Eric Lucan. 

And that was just the primary.

I realize that Grow California isn’t human, and we can’t require humanity from it. But if you ask me, we might rethink that. 

If everyone involved in a campaign was required to have a precinct list, a pair of shoes, and the courage to knock on a stranger's door, our democracy would be in better shape.

Update 9-24-2026

Today marks 7 complete days of “vacation” at the Marriott Bonvoy Novato. The staff have been fantastic, providing Michelle with a private space to work, wrangling Roxie when she runs out to the lobby, and keeping me comfortable as I recover from UTI and pneumonia.

Five days have passed without a fever. Each night since Saturday, gabapentin has helped me sleep through the night, which has a wonderful effect of helping Michelle sleep through the night.

I am still quite weak. I need help with everything. Getting in and out of bed. Dressing. “Bathrooming.” “Eating.”  Everything!

Michelle and Bia help with all that. Michelle is trying to find a third caregiver.

I am working a bit everyday.  Cool the Earth.  Dancefest.  My own writing.

My biggest daily challenge is to keep from choking on my own secretions.  Just sitting here and typing, sometimes a bit of stray phlegm or saliva hits a trigger spot causing me to cough violently for a minute. Not a big deal in the moment, but aspirating my own secretions is a possible trigger for pneumonia.

I miss the comfy house.  The hot tub.  Watching goldfinches play in the fountain.

The mold remediation and bathroom ADA upgrades continue.

I have to tell myself, “Patience, Grasshopper.”

Meanwhile, friends and neighbors pitch in to help. Neighbors Tom and Sue assembled a sit-to-stand mobility aid, and friends Patty and Peter delivered it. Neighbors John and Shannon and Patrick assembled a trapeze. 

I am lucky!!

Update 9-19-2026

It is difficult to have a UTI for the first time ever — and hopefully last time ever. But the symptoms are subsiding as I am on an antibiotic that fights it.

It is difficult to have pneumonia for the  first time ever — and hopefully last time ever. But the symptoms are subsiding as the antibiotic I am on — the same antibiotic! — fights it.

It is difficult to have black mold under the house for first time ever — and hopefully last time ever. But the mold is being cut away and the areas treated with chlorine to mitigate the problem.

It is difficult to have a catheter thrust into my bladder through the only readily available port, and wear a plastic bag full of pee.

If I look at the list above, it is miraculous that I feel grateful. Not just grateful, but cheerful! 

I woke up this morning after a restorative night’s sleep thanks to a new prescription for gabapentin (Neurontin), which Michelle obtained last night after struggling with the medical system all day and dashing to the pharmacy with minutes till closing.

We moved out of 1409 West Court late on Thursday, with a team effort from Michelle, Bia, and Roxie, as well as an angelic assist from our plumber Andrew Ong, who volunteered his time and truck to move our hospital bed, Hoyer lift, and sundry other items to the Marriott in Novato (Hamilton). So now we are in a comfortable room just a few miles from home. Michelle gives the staff here mad props for accommodating us so readily.

We will likely be here 2 weeks while both bathrooms are demolished and rebuilt. Andrew is doing the plumbing, and a contractor he knows is doing the general work.

I am set up to heal. 

I am also set up to write and work, not quite my usual self, but a fair approximation.

My big complaints are too much sticky phlegm, too much saliva, occasional muscle cramps, muscle weakness, and reduced stamina. My underlying ALS symptoms are still there, in other words. As Joe E. Brown says to Jack Lemmon at the end of Some Like It Hot, “Well, nobody’s perfect.”

I surely do miss my healthy body. But if I could make a deal to get it back, and that deal included losing you, dearly beloved family and friends, the answer would be “Hard pass."

Update 9-17-2026

 Yesterday, after 7 days of undulating fever, fatigue, and muscle weakness, I went to Urgent Care, who recommended I go to the ER.  At the ER, after an X-ray, the doctor confirmed a spot of pneumonia, which, along with the UTI diagnosed 8 days ago, explained a lot about how lousy I felt.

I now have a new antibiotic to fight the UTI and pneumonia.

Also, yesterday, after the plumber began repiping our deficient pipes, he discovered black mold eating away the wood beneath the bathrooms. It’s a big project to mitigate the mold.  We will have to move into a hotel for at least a week.

Meanwhile, the electrical renaissance continues. At some point, we will have a fully upgraded electric infrastructure with failover to a big battery.

Needless to say, all the change, struggle, and chaos make it a challenging time to recover from illness.

On the good news side of the health ledger, I have an appointment to see a urologist today, so maybe I will be rid of the catheter I’be been wearing since the 3rd of the month. We shall see.

And the new hospital bed has helped me sleep longer and more soundly. It’s unclear how much of my sleeping difficulty was due to underlying routine ALS symptoms. But certainly, whatever their provenance, the bed is a big positive step.  I haven’t had a restorative night’s sleep in weeks.  Perhaps, someday, I will.

Michelle and Bia have continued to provide world-class care. I am so limited now.  Yesterday, I couldn’t walk to the bathroom, even with the Rollator walker.  I can’t get into or out of bed by myself.  

We are looking for a nurse who can work overnight so Michelle can get some sleep.  Unfortunately, as I wake up many times each night, she has to wake up too.  I need a sip of juice, my mask adjusted, my bedding remade.  And then she has to work the next day.

I’ll try to update you soon,

Would POTUS 45 or 47 Help An Old Lady?

F*** You, Putin

T-shirts and Taxes

T-shirts are crucial to everyone, right? That's why I'm organizing my t-shirts. Never mind that I should be doing my taxes.

I have so many categories of necessary t-shirts, it's driving me nuts. There are plain t-shirts that I wear when I don't want someone's name on me. Plain t-shirts are divided into crew- and V-neck. I also have stripey t-shirts for when I feel stripey, which is not often, but still.

Of course there are printed t-shirts for knockaround days. Most were given to me to commemorate something. I like them. As they get worn and worn, I put them into another category, the t-shirts that are so old they can be used only for cleaning house or other grubby work.

Then there are yoga t-shirts. They are perfect for yoga because they are clingy and do not fall onto my face during downward dog, but they are flexible enough to be doing all that yoga stuff.

Don't let's forget the long-sleeve t-shirts, which are odd but handy when you need them. (I also have long-sleeve yoga t-shirts. Another similar-but-separate category.)

Oh yeah, dance t-shirts. They should be the right length and preferably black. They need their own category because otherwise I will be the goombah in the dumb t-shirt at dance class.

What about tank tops? Are tank tops part of the t-shirt category?

Crap. I really have to do my taxes. Except, wait. I should organize my shorts. Do you know how many categories of shorts there are? Well, to start with, there are plain shorts...

Bouncy-House Shower

I am lucky to have my mom around. At 92, she lives in the same house she bought with my dad in 1959.

Like my mom, the house remains original — no remodel, no additions. As charming as that sounds,  there are problems. For instance, the floor of the shower is shot.

I decided to fix that. I'm not a contractor, but I own tools and display modest tool-using skills. I figured fixing the shower floor would be easy with the right strategy. Really, what is a shower floor? It's a tiny bit of tile slapped on a small piece of plywood.

My mom is always skeptical when I bring my tools into the house. However, I had accomplished an interim fix about six months ago, carefully filling small gaps where water was seeping into the woodwork.

Unfortunately, I did that job perfectly. Once the wood dried out completely during the Summer and Fall, it shrunk. The floor buckled severely, creating enormous gaps that wouldn't be filled by caulk. Now, in Winter, the wind was whistling up from beneath the house, creating a kind of Marilyn-Monroe-on-the-subway-grate effect. As pleasant as that was for Marilyn on a hot New York street, it was definitely not pleasant for me in the shower.

Many years ago, I discovered a product called Wet Patch. It is made for fixing roof problems — as their literature claims:

Made from heavy-bodied asphalt, it patches holes and cracks even in a driving rain or under water, and is so versatile it may be used whether the weather is wet, dry, hot or cold.

Thus, it seemed ideal for fixing huge gaps in a shower floor. It comes in a five-gallon can — plenty of gooey material to squeeze into the cracks and crevices of a shower floor.

Which is exactly what it did. I left the house feeling all handy and righteous — you know, Mission Accomplished. That is, until I came back many hours later. The whole house smelled awful — very petrochemically bad.

So that is why this is recommended for exterior use only, I remarked to myself. The chemical smell could kill you. Hmmm.

Next, I duct-taped a thick sheet of plastic over the floor and poured concrete on top of that. No more off-gassing!

Except, well, Wet Patch is not a great substrate. It's like Play-Doh. The concrete broke up. The Wet Patch/Play-Doh substrate oozed around under the plastic. Standing in the shower was like visiting a watery Bouncy-House.

Which is what I do every morning I am there. I mean, the shower works. The floor is sealed. You just have to get used to the squishiness.

Next Summer the shower will have to be totally replaced. That's a job beyond my modest skills. Meanwhile, I will enjoy the Bouncy-House experience of squishing around in the shower. It's not something everyone gets a chance to enjoy. I am lucky.

My Hip Squeaks

Maybe it doesn't squeak. But it's making noises that it never made before. It's joining a growing list of my body parts that are acting in ways they never acted before.

Probably, this has something to do with getting older. Or rather, with the my phase of getting older -- the early-middle-age phase. I don't know how appropriate it is to call me middle-aged, because I plan to live to a healthy 120. But by some people's definition, my being 51 makes me middle-aged.

Feh. As the t-shirt says:  "Eat right. Exercise. Die anyway."