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My father, now almost 93, had a stroke recently that has meant his mental-to-language function is impaired. Looking up, "birds" become "buses," etc. It's painful to witness. A community leader, he liked so much to think, articulate and work to solve things. On Sunday I take him out to Point Richmond and Ferry Point on the San Francisco Bay; it is the place where he grew up and devoted much of his life as a boat builder, sailor, activist for Bay Parks, trails, etc. We walk out in into the middle of the grassy park. Looking across the waters is an extraordinary 240 degree panoramic view - around from the north we see the San Rafael-Richmond Bridge, Mt. Tamalpias, the Marin Country shore, Angel Island, Racoon Straights, the San Francisco port & skyline, the Bay Bridge, Treasure Island, and the Port of Oakland. The day's high clouds are broken by winter sunlight. My father keeps slightly opening and spreading his arms and hands out from his the sides of his hips, repeating, telling me, "It's all here. It's all here." It was quite amazing and a gift. This embrace of a place and a life. Stephen V