ERRAND DAY
/“Wide awake, I can make my most fantastic dream come true, my romance doesn’t need a thing….but you” - Maxine Weldon singing “My Romance” written by Lorenz Hart and Richard Rodgers in 1935.
A Wednesday in April, 2026, more than 90 years after that song was written, nearly 40 years after my cousin Greg saw Maxine sing “My Romance” at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel’s Cinegrill and raved about it to me, was one off the greatest days of my life. Maybe the greatest.
That day, I woke up about 6:45 am, felt the thigh of the woman who for nearly the last quarter century has been “my most fantastic dream come true”, and then blissfully nodded off for another 30, 40 minutes.
Usually, she beats me out of bed, and I must fix it. That’s our rule; whoever gets up last, fixes the bed. But today I got out first, went downstairs, decoded the alarm, went outside, and got the delivered Los Angeles Times.
We had some coffee, and she gave me a list of errands I needed to do for her. I knew this was coming. The night before, a Tuesday, she had told me Wednesday would be Errand Day.
So, I took off from our home on Van Ness Avenue near 2nd Street. My first stop was Pavilion’s on Melrose and Vine Street. I got our twice-a -week housekeeper Martha some Lysol, Tide, and Clorox. I got my girlfriend some Motrin for her foot that she hurt.
Then I cruise over to Four Season’s Cleaners on Santa Monica Boulevard at Crescent Heights and drop off two of her shirts. From there it was off to Mariana’s, a tailor she likes over on Melrose near Orlando to pick up a dress. Mariana gives me a hug which gets me wondering if she knows what I’ve been going through lately.
Then back east on Santa Monica Blvd., past Fairfax to Langer’s. No, not to Langer’s Deli for the legendary pastrami sandwich, but to Langer’s Luggage owned by an Armenian guy named Rafi, who is to luggage repair what the MacArthur Park place is to pastrami. I pick up a Tumi luggage Raffi has “tuned up” and, of course, he gives me the Armenian discount.
hen I go to this place Faces on 3rd Street near La Jolla Avenue to get some fancy face cream for her from Shula, the pleasant owner, who has some neck cream samples she set aside for me. Thoughtful.
Then I drive to Pico near Cochran to Alex’s Reweaving to drop off her moth-damaged sweater to Ingrid there. Ingrid complimented me that the green shirt I was wearing brought out my green eyes.
The errands are done so I decide to treat myself to a carne asada quesadilla at Sonoratown on San Vincente and Hauser, which I eat while driving home and relishing the sky on this cloudless sunny afternoon. The “Hollywood” sign is showing off big time today.
Now that day – going to the supermarket, the cleaners, the luggage repair, the face cream shop, the reweaving place, and a burrito joint - likely does not sound like a thrilling day to anyone reading this. Certainly not a contender for your “greatest day”, but to me it was. It was because of the day before. But to appreciate “the day before,” I gotta go back.
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Nearly 16 months ago, April 7, 2025, to be precise, I went to see my physician, Dr. Jin Moon at Kaiser on Romaine Street for my annual physical. Less than three minutes after my blood pressure was checked, she walked in and asked how I was feeling.
When I was about 13, I saw the movie “Guys and Dolls.” There’s a line that Marlon Brando, playing Damon Runyon’s legendary gambler Sky Masterson, says that I have never forgot and almost always say when someone asks me how I’m doing. “I’m healthy at the moment.”
I told Dr. Moon, “I’m healthy at the moment.”
After a 15, 20-minute examination, Dr. Moon agreed. She said I was in good shape. Of course, she got on me for the same thing I’ve been hearing for the last 20 or so years; Cut down on French butter and Mozza pizza. I could lose of few, but I was in good condition, and I was still strong, often doing 500 push-ups a day.
Anyway, as Dr. Mon was gathering her things to leave the room, she asked “Anything else?”
“Well,” I said, rather dismissively, “My left thumb and left index finger are a little weak. Can’t squeeze very well.”
Those 15 tossed out words have caused me a level of anxiety unknown in my entire life. Man. Dr. Moon checks out my thumb and forefinger. Squeeze this. Push out against my hand. Pull this.
The result? She makes me an appointment at a neurologist. A neurologist? Are you serious? A neurologist. That’s a serious brain and nerve doctor. My thumb is down to maybe 80% from normal. I can live with that.
On April 22, 2025, I go see a Dr. Abel Wu at Kaiser neurologist office on Edgemont Blvd. at Sunset Boulevard. He’s nice and has me push my thumb against his hand and my forefinger against his hand. Press up and press. Down. For comparison, he does the same with my right hand which I can tell does better.
Then he sends in his muscle, a rather unfriendly female nurse who has me take off some clothes and lay on a bed like thing. Then she goes to work on me.
Electrocution.
I can take a punch. Even a serious beating. I’ve been beat to a pulp by six guys with pipe wrenches a block from the Forum before a Laker playoff game after I knocked down a drug dealer to impress a woman named Omega. I refused to go to the hospital. My cousin Chris later dragged me to Daniel Freeman where they wired shut my broken jaw and gave me 22 stiches on that pipe wrench-damaged forehead. And yes, for the record, Omega was impressed.
But me and electricity? No.
She starts in with a small shock. Then a big one. Then another big one. She is testing my nerves in a couple ways. This goes on for, and I am low balling it, 40 shocks. Then, needles. They sting, but nothing compared to the shocks. She doesn’t say anything during this five-minute other than a couple “lift your arms.”
And then she walks out. Still, not a word. I am free to go. At the doctor’s office window, the lady says Dr. Wu’s people will call or email if I need to come in for another appointment. I hope not.
A few days later, on my Kaiser login I get a message about a phone appointment with Dr. Wu but not until July 30th, more than three months away. Whew. That’s a relief. It can’t be anything serious. By then I will be in Italy, in Umbria, in a hilltop town called Panicale where my girlfriend has a home. We will get there June 27 and leave August 13, the day after my birthday. I’ve been going there every summer since 2003.
So, we arrive in Rome at Leonardo da Vinci Aeroporto, rent a car, and drive two and half hours to Panicale. Another world. The first week we are alone. It’s the opening lines of “Cheek to Cheek”.
My girlfriend is the Los Angeles chef Nancy Silverton and that 2025 summer she hosted four charity events at the home for Alex’s Lemonade, a children’s cancer research clinic, and she brings Mozza workers to help at each dinner. I help by being the errand boy. Clearly errands and me and Nancy go together. Running errands in Umbria, Italy. Not a bad gig.
Anyway, we go on our hilly three-mile walk almost every day. I do my pushups. My goal is those 500 a day and I’m usually hitting it.
My thumb and forefinger are still kinda weak. No pain, just not strong. Even tying my shoes is a chore, that last move when you bring the two laces through that last loop. And, oddly, buttoning my shirts is not so simple. It requires intense concentration and effort. One night, that green shirt Ingrid likes is particularly troublesome to button, and I give up and put on a pullover. But I’m in Panicale with Nancy Silverton. In case you don’t know, the opening lines of Cheek to Cheek are “Heaven, I’m I heaven….”.
July 30 rolls around and it’s time for my call from Dr. Wu. I am downstairs in my small office where I go to escape and write. I get the call.
Hi, Doctor Wu.
Hello, he says and gets right to it. “Michael, it could be a few things.” Pause. “Including ALS.”
“Lou Gehrig,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “Lou Gehrig’s disease.”
My mind does that thing where it goes so fast that several thoughts pop into it within two, three seconds. In those seconds, my brain flashes to the following. My reverence as a 10-year-old for Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Of 2,130 straight games that Gehrig played in, earning him his nickname, The Iron Horse. To Lou dying of his disease that now I might have. Lou speaking at Yankee Stadium saying “I’m the luckiest man on the face of the Earth. Of Gary Cooper playing him in “Pride of the Yankees” and winning an Oscar.
Of Lou Gehrig’s disease which, famously, there is no cure.
Lou Gehrig giving the luckiest man sppech at yankee stadium
Of the countless people not in the Hall of Fame who have died from it and who are suffering from it right now.
Of me dying.
And in that same thought is me countlessly telling my sister Jeanine and Nancy this; “If I die tomorrow don’t be too sad. Know that I had a wonderful life and lived out my dreams. Feel love and happiness that I lived so well. Think about all the young dead people I’ve written about dying violently.”
And in that same thought is all the people in the world, particularly in Gaza, and in Sudan going through hell. And here I am with Nancy Silverton in Panicale listening to Maxine Weldon sing “My Romance”.
That two, three seconds later, I am back talking to Dr. Wu. He says little other than he will make an appointment for me when I get back. And he says, “Enjoy Italy.”
I go upstairs and Nancy asks “Well? What did the doctor say?”
“He doesn’t know what it is. If anything at all. Gonna do some more tests. Probably just some nerve stuff. Said to enjoy Italy.”
END OF PART 1
