The long-running saga continues with excellent news, both medical and not. My most recent MRI, earlier this month, showed continued stability, and indications that the "stuff we don't like to see" has shrunk compared to last year. My neurologist has moved me to a 6-month schedule for my next MRI, which bodes well. I've also met with an epilepsy doctor under whose supervision I plan to gradually reduce the amount of anti-seizure meds I have been taking. There was also a good colonoscopy in there somewhere, but that's all you need to know. My beloved runs through China Camp State Park have stretched out to eight or ten miles at a time…enough to keep me busy for a couple of hours but no threat to get to the end of the park. Our kitchen remodel turned out wonderfully and we are thoroughly enjoying the new space. Things are falling into place, and we feel like we're settling into a spring rhythm and getting ready for summer.

Last week for spring break, the family took a road trip to Las Vegas in the wagon. I had been aware that Vegas was trying to attract folks like us with lavish theme casinos and family-friendly entertainment, so we checked it out. No one came away disappointed. It's not all about the gambling any more. The kids spent a dizzy afternoon at an amusement park perched 1000 feet up on a Space Needle-type structure, and many shows start at 7 PM (such as the incredible magician Lance Burton, who drew gasps from toddlers and great grandparents). Paris Las Vegas was a wonderful place to stay, as was the totally revitalized portion of the Strip, where one can stroll through a rainbow of neon amid settings ranging from faux-Venice to a two-acre version of Manhattan encircled by a rollercoaster, to ancient Egypt. Only the borderline-unemployed hawkers handing out cards offering the services of GIRLS 24/7! detracted from the gauzy illusion that it all went together just as it should.

The other excellent news is that I have fulfilled an ambition I have held since the dark days of chemotherapy and bad MRIs, which is to own, in a non-ambiguous way, my own car. This is an octopus of a story, with tentacles that extend in many directions, but its beginnings spring from the sale of my beloved VW camper at a time when it seemed as though I would live out the rest of my days without ever driving again. As I recovered, freeing myself of seizures, I briefly had custody of a black Jetta that Miles and I had picked out. As soon as he got his license, the car became his. We were thus a three-driver household with two cars, lacking the resources for another. (Teenage auto insurance will do that.) For more than a year, I made arrangements to have a car for my own use, which worked 98% of the time…the rest, I rode a bike or stayed home, choosing to exercise patience.

Then, something happened that, while not unexpected, could still be viewed as a windfall…a startup company I have been involved with for more than three years on a deferred-payment agreement, completed first-round funding and contacted me with the news that they would be sending me a stock certificate and a nice check. We had been aware that things had been moving in this direction since last year, but the process had its own timetable which lasted until last week. Nonetheless, we had agreed to earmark some of the check for the purchase of a personal motorcar for Dan, free of any constraints save budget and common sense…something I need only to appreciate and enjoy. Because I had months to think about what that car should be, I considered all sorts of alternatives. Mini Coopers, new Beetle convertibles and Porsche Speedster replicas based on Volkswagens were all considered, but my thinking began to crystallize when we were in Los Angeles with our friends Rick and Roberta. Rick is a hard-boiled car enthusiast of the first order, and has the resources to drive pretty much whatever he wants to, which tends to be fast and German (or slow and German, if we include his VW camper).

On the day of our departure, Rick opened the garage to reveal the cars that live there…several Porsches including a stunning commemorative edition silver Boxster that caught my eye. The following week, my college buddy Adrian came to town in his silver Boxster (which I remember driving briefly, recalling that it felt completely familiar to me right from the beginning). As the dawn of imminent funds began to glow in the east, I scoured Ebay and Craig’s List for used Boxsters, familiarizing myself with equipment and prices. I even drove one at a dealer when I had an extra half-hour to kill in Novato, literally running off the lot to escape the reptilian salesman.

So it was that one recent Saturday, with the funds on their way, I ventured out in the Jetta armed with a legal tablet filled with prospective cars, prices, phone numbers and directions. My first stop was in Piedmont, where an attractive Midnight Blue car beckoned from its driveway. Its owner was a genial guy a little older than I, who had put only 26,000 miles on a 1999 car and kept it in the garage. It looked practically brand new. We took it out and that old feeling of familiarity came back, as if the car was a 40-long and fit like a favorite sportcoat. After a thoroughly enjoyable spin through Oakland, we exchanged numbers and I sped off towards Car #2. I saw only two other cars that day, both equally nice (one had just 12,000 miles) but a bit out of my price range. By the end of the day, I had decided on the first car, so I called the owner and told him to hold it for me. Fortunately, he was flexible, and between waiting for the funds, his travel schedule and our trip to Las Vegas, it was last night before I finally took the car home. In our driveway, it looks like the offspring of our aqua Audi and the black Jetta.

Why is this car so important to me? For one thing, it represents the long road back from being dependent on others for transportation when it looked as though I might never drive again. It also is a tangible reward for the years of work (and faith) I invested in the startup company, and a validation of the work I did for them. It’s also, let’s face it, the classic mid-life-crisis car. And in all modesty, I feel that I’ve had a mid-life crisis worthy of its own car. But in many ways, the Boxster is a perfect fit. I don’t need to commute - that would be a waste - and I rarely travel with more than a single guitar in a case. (On the occasions where I might have to haul gear, Ellen will graciously trade me the wagon.) Finally, I always wanted one. It’s as though I’m in a Make A Wish program for grown-ups.

So there you have it. I now feel complete. When the need arises, my chariot awaits. (I made a point of getting the manual transmission so the boys wouldn’t take off with it.) When I drive it, I’m reminded of the valuable lessons I’ve learned along my journey… Faith. Patience. Perseverance. Trusting one’s instincts. My spiritual practice continues to renew me, and I’m gaining an ever-deepening understanding of how to give and receive life-affirming energy and love. I owe a great debt to those whose prayers (and sometimes, cars) have taken me where I needed to go, and I hope someday I can repay it in some karmic way. But for now, I’m empowered to go anywhere I need, any time I want. The grin on my face may not disappear for months.