Double Vision: A Personal History

I am lying in a hospital bed inside the staging area of a busy surgery center in Scottsdale, Arizona. It is early in the morning, and yet there is a thrum of activity all around us. I watch comfortable-looking sneakers stream by under the privacy curtain at the foot of the bed. Lisa holds my left hand, the one without the IV. I am no stranger to hospitals, but until now, I’ve been the one in the visitor’s chair. I take deep breaths, but my heart thumps like a piston in my chest. Fight or flight.

A nurse comes in to check my vitals.

“Oh, you’re nervous, aren’t you?” She asks as she removes the blood pressure cuff from my arm. I’m still thinking about that two-page surgery consent form I signed.

An anesthesiologist joins the nurse, and they chat about the heavy traffic this morning. I wonder what I can say to stop all this, to get back in the car and get the hell out of here, but before I can think of a good enough reason, Lisa is kissing me and wishing me luck, and I am wheeled away into surgery.

My Year of Reading in 2025

I read 40 books in 2025, down from 53 books in 2024. We spent five months in Manhattan this spring and summer, swapping reading for exploring the city. It was a good trade.

My reading was split evenly between fiction and non-fiction, with a particular emphasis during the year on the history of Nazi Germany.

I read much more on Kindle in 2025. Spending five months away from my cozy home library drove most of this, though, as I get older, I appreciate more and more the ability to dial up the font size at night.

Mornings in New York

We emerge from the air-conditioned lobby of our apartment building on this warm August morning, pulled along by two anxious dogs. The humidity slips over and around us like a sweaty embrace. The faint scent of garbage, flowering shrubs, and dog urine hangs in the still air.

We look both ways for other dogs before descending the steps, alert to the bedlam an encounter here at the edge of their estate would create. To the east, Madison Avenue, and, a few blocks further, the subway station at Lexington that will take us almost anywhere we want to go. To the west, Fifth Avenue and Central Park.

This is one of New York’s most affluent neighborhoods, where a basic apartment on this street fetches $4 million. We could never afford to live here, but we can scrape together the rent for a season.

We walk toward the park along the quiet street of brownstones and high-rise apartments. We arrived too late to catch the spring blossoms of the Callery pear trees that line the street, but we are thankful for their shade and greenery. Uniformed doormen wave as we pass. We slip across the street to avoid a lady with two high-strung Poodles.

Where We Were Meant to Be

We are walking through Central Park on a beautiful May morning, two lovebirds, married these many years. It’s our third day in Manhattan, and it feels as though the city has opened its arms wide and hugged us. Everywhere we look is green and lush. We pass a bakery nestled deep inside the park and decide to return tomorrow for a coffee and treats.

We emerge from the meadows and winding paths to the thrum and bustle of the Upper West Side. We walk up Broadway looking for a stationery store that sells my kind of notebooks and the art supplies she needs for an upcoming drawing class. The store is nearby, and I’m scanning both the businesses along the street and the map on my phone.

Without warning, Lisa stops. She points to a store sign and speaks a series of numbers. A SEPHORA sign comes out as 8-4-3-5. The neon TD Bank sign is another string of numbers. I look at her closely to see if she’s joking. She’s not.

Not Exactly Traveling Light

We arrive in New York City in less than a week for our five-month adventure. Normally, we would fly from Phoenix, but because of the dogs, we must make the cross-country drive.

The idea behind this trip has been percolating for decades. When I retired, I wanted to travel and see the world, but not in a conventional way. I didn’t want to see ten countries in two weeks. That’s an exhausting vacation, not travel, and definitely not a pilgrimage. No. I wanted to immerse myself in a place as a local. Rent a furnished flat in Madrid for three months with just a Kindle, a traveler’s notebook, and a good pair of walking shoes.

The problem started with the Ford Expedition I rented for the drive. I chose a large vehicle because I wanted room for the dogs and anything we might bring. But now, as I survey the suitcases and eight loaded boxes of clothing and gear, I know I have forgotten my ideal of traveling light.

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