This was almost finished last night, but my interior clock is about as screwed up as it could get. i knew this writing would be close to gibberish if i posted last night. Re-reading this morning, i was close to correct. i am, as Mother Goose would honk, “home again, home again, jiggety jig.”

Sister, aka Martha Duff: She is doing well.

Critical point is Tuesday when she and Todd go to see her surgeon. If all goes well, the nasty vacuum pump will be removed, and she will have more freedom. She is gaining strength; her wounds are healing; and she is getting better on a continuing basis. Perhaps the most reassuring aspect is that she is absolutely, completely aware of where she is and what she needs to do to get to the next phase. Knowing her, i rest easy knowing she will will it to happen. After all, she is kin to her mother and father.

Me? Well, it’s been one hell of a day. Martha and i watched a replay of the UK-Vandy game together after i got home from a UTC Mocs basketball win, hosted by Todd and in company with Bill Trumpeter and Pat Taintor. Martha enjoyed watching with me while she knew the outcome and i didn’t. This is even more remarkable because she is not a big Vandy fan.

i hit the rack around 10:30. Arose at 3:00 to catch a shuttle to Nashville. After almost three hours in the airport, caught a five-hour flight to San Diego. The rest is a blur. Oh yes, elapse time from start to journey finish: twelve hours. As i partook of  wine and ceviche on the patio looking over San Diego Bay at Coasterra on Harbor Island, i looked upon my love sitting next to me. Maureen is my soul, my soul mate, and these past two weeks gave me extra understanding of exactly how wonderful and beautiful she is. The return was sort of perfect. There was Maureen; there was the city, which is now my home away from my old home; there was Maureen; and if you look at the photo of Maureen, you can see the USS Carl Vinson (CVN 70) moored at North Island in the background. Pretty damn good homecoming.

i have many things to do. There is a backlog, and there is this golf thing, like a round with my curmudgeons at Coronado tomorrow.

All of it will seem easy, even joyous, as i think about how my sister is on her road to recovery.

Thursday night, i awoke in the middle of the night, as old men do, to go to the bathroom. The guest bedroom where i stayed is at the head of the stairway to the second floor. Leaving the room, i looked down the stairs into the piano room where we had set up the hospital bed, Martha’s sleep place until she can climb the stairs. Sometime in the middle 1950’s, Mother had a portrait photograph taken of Martha in a yellow chiffon gown. If i remember correctly, she wore the gown for her first piano recital. It is a wonderful portrait and Martha is  perfectly beautiful. When i looked down at the hospital bed with Martha’s head resting on a pillow, i saw that beautiful little girl again.

Somehow, i knew things were going to be okay, and it really was time for me to go home.