In view of our litigious ways, i have decided we need to sue all of the mothers of the world.

After all, they are the ones who give birth to children. And eventually, all of the children die. Therefore, the mothers are the ones who cause us death: totally responsible for our dying.

Of course, another class action should follow. Men do have a hand in this. Next suit, please.

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.

i had promised i was going to see my nephew’s identical 5-month old twin boys before i left Signal Mountain. i saw their four-year old sister Allie on her birthday at Happy’s house.

This afternoon, i drove out in the glorious winter sunshine past the town of Signal Mountain to Walden, a town on the eastern border of Signal Mountain on what i call the back way down down the mountain to Dunlap. Tommy and Abby Duff have a small farm on Corral Road in a mix of old farmland and new development. i wove around the road and, of course, passed their house, requiring a u-turn.

Tommy opened the door and ushered me in to meet Allie, who hugged my knees until i hugged her back. I also gave their older daughter Olivia a hug. Then i looked down on the floor to look intently at Max and Culley Duff, my grand nephews, or whatever the correct term is for the grandsons of my sister.

Max and Culley were beautiful infants when we were here for Christmas. But now, they are enchanters, personalities developing, sitting up, getting ready to stand up, then walk, then rule the world. Now, they are content to hold each other’s hand, which in itself could capture your heart.

i held Max for a while. He laughed and pulled at my mustache. Then Tommy brought over Culley, and i had one on each knee. Tommy took photos. In most, Allie is at my side.

And here they are:

It is late Friday morning. In the early part, there was a trace of snow on the rooves (old secondary spelling: therefore, i will use it since it’s a lot like me).  It’s gone now.

In the past day and a half, we’ve had bits of sunshine, clouds, cold, high winds, rain, sleet, snow, and now real sunshine. For the rest of my visit, we had one day of almost all sunshine, another total of ten minutes, cloud cover, and rain and sleet.

So this morning as my sister rests and my brother-in-law runs errands, i chose this spot as my office for the day. The firewood stack is outside one window. A lone hemlock is prominent looking out the other window. Both windows let the sunlight filter through the pines, bare gray oaks except for green moss and vines.

There is a sense of peace, dignity. It’s a thinking corner, someplace to contemplate, someplace to write.

Martha and Todd Duff have a beautiful home. It feels good to know she will be able to enjoy it fully, not soon, but fully. That and sitting by these corner windows thinking about 70 years together with my sister makes my presence here worthwhile.

On Facebook today, Christine Ransom Phillips posted a photo of Roy Rogers and Trigger in their prime. I shared the post with some of my fond memories, and the responses have been nearly all favorable with one exception.

But i have a shared memory that will go a long way to show what kind of man Roy Rogers, nee Leonard Franklin Slye, really was.

This memory was the legendary JD Waits’ story he told to Maureen, my mother and father, and me at our home in the early 1990’s when JD brought over his wife, Mary Lou, and his mother, Wanda Pearl for dinner.

Wanda Pearl, in her early 80’s, adored Roy Rogers for as long as JD could remember. So when she came to visit JD and Mary Lou from her home in Houston, JD thought she would be pleased to visit Roy’s Museum in Apple Valley. She was.

As the two arrived as the museum opened, no one else was there. But as they entered, there was Roy in full cowboy regalia. He gave Wanda Pearl a personal tour of the museum with JD tagging along behind. After the lengthy tour, the three of them walked outside.

As they were getting ready to leave, Wanda Pearl turned to the King of the Cowboys and asked, “Mr. Rogers, would you mind if my son took a picture of you and me together?”

Roy took off his white Stetson and replied, “Why little lady, I would be honored.”

Wanda Pearl still has the framed photo in her home.

JD also turned me onto Roy’s CD, “Roy Roger’s Tribute,” a collection of Roy’s hits song solo, with Dale, or the Son’s of the Pioneers. Roy sings with a bunch of country music stars, and his son has a tribute song. Naturally, the last song is Roy and Dale singing “Happy Trails.”

i listen to it a lot. Sarah and I during her middle school and high school years would put in the car CD player and sing along until we reached our destination. If you have never heard it, you should at least listen to the songs.