Finally. Swimming has started. Everyone has been so kind as to ask if Sara has started in the new swim season. It felt as if it would never begin, due to pool renovations, etc. But she has 3 practices on the “big kid” team under her belt, and I can SEE her spirit centering.

Today she reported giving up a few minutes of recess in order to complete a math worksheet with her swim buddy on the playground. They asked the teacher if they could finish it up, rather than take it home, as they had practice tonight, and it was very important to them to get their work done. WHO? WHAT? I don’t….there are no words….

Or to quote Sara’s response to my stunned expression, “What’s the big deal? It only took us a minute to finish, which is way faster than lugging it home, pulling it out, remembering what we were doing…geez. Easy peasy….1 minute and a clipboard and DONE.”

I then requested my alternate Universe ticket be punched for a return home fare, because I had clearly left my home planet.

Everyone has been so kind to ask if Sydney is on the mend. The world’s healthiest senior cat has clear Xrays and perfect labs, which means she has stress-induced gastritis. Why? Just because the city is now ripping up the sidewalk behind the apartment with jackhammers all day? Just because we were given 15 hours notice the entire parking lot was to be repaved, and we’ll have to park and walk for the next week, surrounded by the odoriferous joy of hot tar? I think she’s OK. She puked all over my pants last night, but seems better today. The lines between sleepy, happy, and just flat-out dead are very fine lines with Syd.

Everyone has been so kind to ask about my Grandfather. In a very unexpected turn of fate, he survived a very unlikely set of intensive care events. After being removed from life support, and living, he next had to survive two risky procedures to save his legs. They worked. He had some mild cognitive impairment from his prolonged Code. He all but walked it off. He wouldn’t eat. I cooked some food. He ate. He is now home from rehab with part-time live-in assistance (aka, my mother), and when I called today, he was playing the guitar. He’s down to 2 Physical Therapy appointments per week, because he’s been kicked out of Occupational Therapy. Too healthy. Tomorrow he’ll turn 89, and just to write those words, I think I must be dreaming. Again…punch that return ticket to reality! Or not. It’s nice to see him happy and home where he wishes to be.

And last, but not least, I receive daily questions about the house. The sunny, wood floors are in, front door is on, fireplace is up, bathrooms are finished, even the doorbell works…house. It won’t be long now. In fact, we’re in the last-month home stretch. There’s so much living left to be done before we pack the boxes and go, but we’ve come so far. We’ve been through so much. Surely the sun will wait for me until I can get us home…

Finally.