My father called last night. It was 7:40 pm his time. I teased that it was past his bedtime. He chuckled.

He'd been sitting with Mary, his wife of 45 years, my bonus mom. I'd sent them an email with an overview of my week at Vanderbilt with the transplant evaluation. Though we'd been in daily contact, I thought they'd like to read my documentation.

My Dad said he'd been sitting there thinking about my children and how far they live from me. His voice started to get all crackly with emotion. He said he'd become concerned that his little girl was all by herself. As his voice broke more, so did my heart.

In soothing tones and comforting words I assured him I was just fine. And that was the truth. I'd returned home with hope - Cleveland Rocks! I returned to my home and community I love so much.

Each season the light brings a different tenor to the interior of my home. The photos below are not fussed with - they're not edited or photo-shopped. This is my world. My beautiful world.

My father and I talked for about 30 minutes. As always we shared laughter. I added a few more dollops of assurance that I was doing just fine. I reviewed Plan B with him. My enthusiasm was contagious. I offered no false hope - just real hope that is very promising.

I'm 66 years old and still take such delight when my father calls me his little girl. It's quite lovely - so charming and dear and sweet.

Tomorrow he starts chemo again. He's into his third year of treatment for a variation of leukemia. He's such an inspiration.





Dining Room




Living Room





Living Room




Ferns on front porch - aren't they amazing!