This is my dad. He is almost 95, as of next month. He is still of sound mind but has slide since my visit last year physically. A painful hip joint has forced him to adopt a walker. Watching him get up from a chair is a lesson in pain. He has been deemed by his doctors to be too old for hip surgery, so his only option now is to live with it. Abandoning the walker for a wheelchair is not an option. At least if he wants to stay in this house that he loves. With my brother Chris’s help, he can still navigate the house’s steps. Four between his bed-bath suite and the kitchen-dining room floor, which unless he needs to leave the house that is all he faces. Going out, there are many more. Chris’s practices in this endeavor, which at first seemed to harbor benign neglect, but on further thought appears to be the only necessary approach. If my dad stops moving, he will lose access to his house and then he would shortly die. Descending this week upon them, our visit has acted as a catalyst. We first precipitated a visit to his favorite restaurant in Carmel, the Rio Grill. Dinnertime reservations have slide to midafternoon popups now. We got seated at their usual table over a novice waitstaff’s objections, being such venerable customers. Yesterday, we drove down the foggy coast of Route 1 to Big Sur and Nepenthe, an establishment that my dad first visited almost at its inception. These excursions really take the wind out of him, but in part, is not that their purpose?