It's always good to get where you are going. But then there you are. Dad and I are in a traffic jam in Colorado Springs but it's still lunch time when we arrive. My sister and one niece are off doing something so we visit with the other one. She has the boys. We marvel that the little baby who could almost sit up in October is running and climbing. He speaks, too. He says, "uh-oh." This seems to be his only intellibible word and it's a good one for him.

I'm glad we are off the road. My niece and her husband got his parents to babysit and they take me to a wine tasting at a community center. It's not a bad lecture, some of the wines are pretty good.

When I get to my sister's house, where I'll sleep, my sister has fallen on her way in on the two steps into the living area of the house. She has some edema and I think she wasn't walking that well and tired. Her leg is bruised but there aren't other apparent problems. I immediately start worrying because she wants to go home with us and I can't imagine a road trip trying to take care that she doesn't fall. Her mobility is not perfect at its best and she has trouble getting up and down because of the stroke-effect weakness in her right leg and arm.

I'm hedging about her going with us already. I feel bad about it, I want her to have fun, to go through Mom's things, to see my aunts in West Texas. But I don't want her to get hurt far from her husband and kids. But I convince myself that it will work out. Little do I know how it will work out.