Last week, knowing that my son was coming from California to visit me, someone at work asked how long it had been since I had seen him. I told them that I couldn't count that high. When my son arrived last night, he told me that it had been four years. At that time, his Grandfather was still alive. Then, he mowed my parents' lawn and painted the trim around the windows on the front of their house. This time, he wants to have a resting vacation, and I don't blame him. Right now, he's over at his other Grandmother's house, visiting with her and her daughter, his aunt.

Last night, as I was driving to the airport, I realized that it had been some months since I had driven at night, and I was a little uneasy about it. It took me twenty minutes to drive from my Mother's house to the airport, and, then, I had a thirty-five minute wait before I saw my son, smiling and waving. We stopped at Wendy's and picked up something for him to eat. At my Mother's house, he came inside, to speak to her, for a few minutes. Then, he drove off in the car she is loaning him for the week that he will be here.

This morning, I took my Mother grocery shopping. Then I mowed her front and back yards. Later, this afternoon, I'll take her to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, or two, then, to the post office, and, finally, to the library.

My son may call me today, or, he may not. While he is here, he plans to spend a day or two out in the country, at his other Grandmother's farm.