One day and a wake-up

At the prison where I volunteer (and probably at all prisons), the inmates describe their remaining days of incarceration thusly: “I’ve got three weeks and a wake-up,” or “Six days and a wake-up.”

Well, folks, we’re down to one day and a wake-up.

My husband and I toyed with the idea of going to Washington for Obama’s inauguration, but in the end decided to enjoy the festivities from the comfort of our family room. I have to admit to wishing I’d been there for yesterday’s We Are One concert, though.

We thoroughly enjoyed it, especially Garth Brooks’ medley of American Pie, Shout and We Shall Be Free. (Catch it here on YouTube.) I’m a folk/rock/Dylan fan, and my husband loves classical music, especially Baroque, so for us to highlight country star Brooks is astonishing.

In the end, we thought it fitting that we have yet another party for the swearing-in ceremony – a luncheon for old farts, if you will, who probably won’t be awake for coverage of even the first fancy inaugural ball. Retirement has its advantages – you don’t have to schedule a day off work to watch history being made.

Overshadowing all this excitement is the fact that my dad is back in CCU. His doctors will be discussing implanting a pacemaker this morning. He has repeatedly assured me that he’s doing fine, is being well cared for and doesn’t need me to be there. I do, however, feel very torn – glad to be home to share the inauguration with my husband and our friends, but wishing I could be in Florida, to speak with Dad’s caregivers face-to-face and find out exactly what’s going on. Neither my dad nor his wife ask enough questions when the doctors breeze in and out of his room.