It’s Election Day!

The most consequential Presidential contest in generations comes to a conclusion today, as anyone who didn’t vote early goes to the polls to cast his or her ballot.

The intrigue so is palatable, we could all be living a scripted movie. Consider the circumstances that removed Joe Biden as Democrats’ chosen candidate and propelled Kamala Harris to replace him—or the nearly successful assassination attempt of Donald Trump around the same time. What’s that saying about conspiracies and coincidences?

Photo by Joe WilcoxNov 4, 20247:56 pm

Trip to Trump Country

Two days ago, my wife and I enjoyed a scenic, 56-km (36-mile) drive from San Diego to Ramona, Calif., where I underwent Stop the Bleed trauma training. In our neighborhood, Democrat-candidate-supporting signs are everywhere. We have seen one for Trump, inside a window where no one could tear it away.

But we saw several banners—one hoisted high above the highway—along the route to Ramona and an actual Trump Store on Main Street. Say what? Someone would either graffiti or torch the place if located in the Hillcrest-North Park-University Heights area. Around where we live, people who can’t stop talking about inclusion and tolerance are quick to exclude and exude intolerance towards Donald Trump, his MAGA-movement, and anything or anyone Republican.

Photo by Joe WilcoxNov 2, 20249:56 pm

Stop the Bleed

This morning, we drove 56 km (35 miles) to Ramona, where I received trauma training meant to Stop the Bleed when injury severs an artery. The official, instructor-led class lasted about 90 minutes. Kit Fox Outfitters’ co-owner provided hands-on learning as part of the curriculum.

I will practice the techniques taught today so that they become muscle memory. Familiarity could make the difference between life and death in the event of a bleeding emergency, where seconds matter and being flustered and slow-moving is unacceptable. Practice makes perfect, as they say.

Living by Joe WilcoxOct 31, 20249:26 pm

The Incident on Halloween

The two photos have absolutely nothing to do with the content of this post—other than timing: Halloween. I had already planned to use them, and nothing better is available for appropriate illustration.

For many adults and kids looking for a good candy haul or costume party, the day is trick rather than treat. Fast-moving canyon brushfire erupted, around 1:40 p.m. PDT today in College Area, which is a neighborhood that includes San Diego State University.

Photo by Joe WilcoxOct 26, 20247:40 pm

Ten Years of Cali

On my twin sisters’ birthday, we pause for another commemoration—this one belated. A decade ago, on Oct. 20, 2014, we inherited Cali. I first met the tortoiseshell across the street from my daughter’s shared college residence on June 4 of that year. The kitten would crawl into our adult child’s bed later that night and come to be contested among coeds living in several houses. None of the women properly cared for the cat, but all of them claimed her.

After some pushing and pulling—with some women moving away and leaving Cali behind—she would become our daughter’s pet. But short-lived. School started and one of the students turned out to be allergic to cats. And so, the skinny, underfed, undernourished Cali came to live with my wife and me.

Photo by Joe WilcoxOct 20, 202410:02 pm

The Cats of University Heights: Gummy

Not only is the backlog of kitties backed up, but I ignored the series‘ eighth anniversary on October 17. Yeah, 2016. I started a few months after undergoing eye surgery for one ailment, while still being treated for another. Cat photography presented opportunity to break in my ocular implants and to improve sense of composition (okay, so the latter is awash).

This fine feline is the five-hundred-ninety-third profile and one-hundred-thirty-fourth found behind door or window. I used Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra to capture the Featured Image, on Sept. 10, 2024. Vitals: f/3.4, ISO 32, 1/160 sec, (synthetic) 230mm (digital and optical zoom); 8:22 a.m. PDT. Nickname: Gummy. Because, why not?

Photo by Joe WilcoxOct 15, 202411:02 pm

San Diego is Scary Now

Seventeen years ago today, the Wilcox family relocated to San Diego from the Washington, DC-metro area. We came to care for my father-in-law, who would live another decade and pass away—age 95—in his own bed. He likely would have gone sooner and/or been confined to a nursing home otherwise.

My wife and I should have fled Communist California—and the slave mentality induced here—in 2017, soon after her dad died. But ongoing concerns about our only child kept us here longer. Our daughter’s brain injury, in March 2023, justified the financial hardship of staying. She survived—something unlikely had we, from a long distance, taken doctors’ advice to end life support rather than by being present choose to continue it.

Photo by Joe WilcoxOct 13, 20247:55 pm

To Think You Worry About Illegal Alien Criminals

The sign in the Featured Image speaks for itself: There are other risks around the canyons of San Diego—perhaps more worrisome than foreign troublemakers hiding in them and coming out to assault, rob, or murder the locales. My SoCal county is one of the throughways by which illegals cross into the United States, and they are frequent enough topic on the local news or social media to scare some residents.

But coyotes—and I don’t mean smugglers sneaking immigrants across the border—present problems you might not consider. Sure, residents should keep cats and smaller dogs inside, but these coyotes could carry dynamite or drop anvils from hot-air balloons. Drones are a pitting nuisance, by comparison.

Photo by Joe WilcoxOct 9, 20249:29 pm

Royal but Rustic

This isn’t the first rustic typewriter that I have seen put out for the taking. The vintage is way older than the one that I used as a teenager, but it is the same brand: Royal. I am a poorly, but efficient enough, self-taught typist—starting around age 14 (my handwriting is notoriously sloppy).

My recollection is dim about why I inherited a typewriter, which got plenty of usage. I punched out many poems and song lyrics on the thing; they were lost inside a box of memorabilia sometime in 1989. Advice: Don’t leave something precious in someone else’s garage. Your treasure could be put out as trash.

Photo by Joe WilcoxOct 5, 20247:56 pm

Witchy Women

As I walked along Louisiana Street from El Cajon Blvd, today, a lady dressed in full witch regalia—black with red accents—turned the corner from Meade. We passed and I wondered where she could be going 26 days before Halloween.

An answer approached after I crossed onto the next block: Two more witches walked my way. So, I stopped them and inquired, explaining about the other costume dresser. Some of the local ladies were off to University Heights neighborhood bar Gilly’s, which recently changed ownership and partially its name.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 29, 20249:25 pm

Would You Want to Live Here?

As explained three days ago, apartment landlords are taking away tenant garages and converting them into residential rentals. The practice is rampant across San Diego County, including my neighborhood of University Heights.

Unsurprisingly, the alleys separating streets fill with parked cars, particularly late day into the evening hours. You lost your garage and can’t find a legal space, so you make do and hope to move before the parking police blast by writing tickets.

Photo by Joe WilcoxSep 28, 20249:33 pm

Simply Scary

Some moments are humbling. Today, my wife and I walked across the Spruce Street Suspension Bridge—and not since Spring 2021. I have always been sure-footed, even as the thing wildly swayed. But not today. I was clumsy, dizzy, off-balance, uncertain. I wasn’t prepared for the dramatic, and wildly changed, reaction.

Gasp. We don’t necessarily see the effects of aging, because the diminishing capacity isn’t sudden but result of a long process. I joked with Annie about a what-if: joining a volleyball game and waking in the hospital, following a dig to save the ball. Muscle memory may be there, but not the physical agility or stamina. “Well, Mr. Wilcox, you have a broken arm, three cracked ribs, and a fractured collar bone”.