Can you see the difference? Can you tell we are in The Land Of Enchantment? Friday morning brought a marginal recovery from the trauma of coming into Albuquerque during rush hour with the sun in our eyes. Looking out the dirty windows Friday morning is a partial cure.

I am bathed in the light that kept Georgia O'Keefe painting into old age. It is another day, and I can't quite find myself through sinus problems, the twilight zone of imagining Jeanie and Bob and their region iced up while the sun shines here, knowing my dad is at Kathryn's house, asking over and over, "Now where do I live."

What I intend is to see my dad today. I'll be going alone, and I'm not consciously thrilled by finding my way around strange places like my sister Ann, and my friend Anne. So I go online to mapquest, match that to instructions from my brother, while Andre sets the gps and I change my shirt. Then the hole in the toe of my right sock irritates me and I change my sox. The instructions are printed, the gps is on, the car is washed, shining, running and Andre stands waving goodbye. (Waving me off—get going already!) Still. I am not quite ready. But I shift into gear and roll out of Enchanted Trails RV Park and head toward I-40 east. I'm driving for the first time in 2 weeks, the gps lady's commands are irritating but reassuring; my instructions are easy enough. I sail along toward Kathryn's house and Dad.

Soon, the gps lady is telling me I've arrived, and it's true. I see a normal enough southwestern neighborhood, and the handicap sign and paved front yard are the only clues that 7 elderly people live here as some sort of family, each in a private room with the bath in the hall.

Deciding to ignore the doorbell, I walk in the front door, and a buzzer sounds. I see Dad's back and a woman in a pink sweater leaning into him, facing me. I walk over and he turns around and sees me, smiles, and says "Well hi." She says, "He's my boyfriend. Your father is the nicest old man." He seems impervious to all that. He's been sitting, slowly eating the last of his green-tinged dessert pie. He looks great. We hug. She leaves us alone. In the living room someone is singing You Are My Sunshine. I harmonize inside. Dad asks if I want to go to his humble abode. I do, but we decide to join the group and sing along. Once or twice, he asks if I'd rather go talk. But leaving would be disruptive. The singing is over soon, and we go to his humble abode. We talk, we look at things in his room, we eat the Hershey's candy Mary has gotten for the table. I want to return to Enchanted Trails before rush hour. We hug, he walks me to the door with his walker. We will see each other again Saturday with Frank and the twins, and again Sunday with Frank, Mary, Meredith and Madeline. I feel good sailing back alone in the car, feeling the light all around.