Allie

My Aunt Allie lives in La Cañada at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains, just a few blocks west of Angeles Crest Highway. I called her Friday, concerned because the fire was near where she lives. As I read about it, I knew the places mentioned, and they are close to her home on Journey's End Drive.

She called me back Saturday, had not yet evacuated, but Sunday my call to her went unanswered. I think that means she and her son Brett have left her home. Reports today are not good--the fire there doubled over night, and when I spoke with her Saturday she could see the flames over the big trees at the back of her property.

Her name is Alice Callicott. I am named for her, although my mother spelled my name with a y. Allie is 89, still beautiful, still with all her wits about her, still with her sense of humor and her beautiful voice. My three daughters know her.

She asked that I pray for her and her home. I ask all who read this to do the same.

The Windy City

Let me just say this about Chicago: I love it, want to go back, will go back, want some of my kids to go with me. Sears Tower (I know, it's Willis Tower now but not to me and not, I found out, to a lot of Chicagoans), rides in to the city on the L, those gorgeous buildings (and I forget how many of them Oprah has lived in), speedboat ride on Lake Michigan, bus tour around the city, concert out at Ravinia, strolling on the Navy Pier--what's not to love?

It wasn't windy. The weather was perfect. The Chicago River somehow a reassuring presence. The room at the Embassy Suites spacious and comfy and, thanks to my son-in-law Ben, affordable. People were nice. And I'm just getting started.

Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin' town,
Chicago, Chicago, I'll show you around.
You'll love it . . .

I did love it. I want to go back. I said that already.

Morning Gift

A humming bird visited my Rose of Sharon this morning, taking delicate sips from the delicate roses. Such a sighting is rare in my yard--I don't put up feeders with colored sugar water. I did once and had no takers. So I am doubly glad I planted the Rose of Sharon, glad for the flowers, a treat for my eyes, glad for their color, their nectar, to bring the humming bird.

Of course, I'll watch for him now and hope, though I may never see him again. But I might.

My Promise

More later.