What a difference two weeks make. Instead of watching the hypnotic waves of the ocean, today I am sitting in the middle of my hospital bed. No beautiful sunrises or sunsets here. Just a sterile room and a little night light.

My right hand is laboriously trying to find the appropriate keys on my laptop. My left hand wants to join in, but my defiant fingers refuse to uncurl. The doctors aren’t sure whether this is a mini-stroke or a further complication of the cancer going north this time.

Doctor "Rob" and my husband, Buddy, have started the hospice process. Later I will share more details about this organization for the terminally ill. Buddy understands now that he can’t carry this load alone. He insists he doesn’t want me in an institution…that he wants me constantly near-by and that that he married me "until death do us part." Hospice will allow him to be my primary care giver at home with some additional support.

Quite often people ask Buddy about visiting in our home. Buddy loves company and so do I most of the time. However, my husband has this strange need to take every guest on a walking tour of our humble abode. Take my word for it. Martha Stewart and her finery winery dinery would be out of taste in our home. But, if by mistake she did show up at our door, he’d take great delight in giving her the grand tour. This generally includes removing the porcelain toilet cover to demonstrate how well the ball floats. Never mind that my "unmentionables" are drying on the shower bar.

Understand that I didn’t grow up in high society, but I do have a little pride. No matter how desperately ill I am, if I know you are coming, I will attempt to clean house. It is an unwritten "woman" thing.

Oppie, our Chihuahua, and Rocky, our parrot, contribute to our daily household debris. But it is really those night creatures that keep our house untidy. I read about them in Grime’s Book of Fairies.

They do their dirty deeds when everybody else is asleep. Ms. Grime Fairy uses a waxy wand to leave marks in the bath tubs and toilets. Her sister, Ms. Dust Fairy, goes into each room depositing powdery droppings on all tables, shelves and what-knots. If you aren’t seeing evidences of the Grime Fairies at your house, then you have a maid or a lot more energy than I have.

Which brings me back to the original question about visitors. You won’t see our house on the Christmas Tour of Homes. You won’t be able to eat off our floors. You may have to help yourself to the refrigerator and I may take a nap if you stay long. But real friends are welcome anytime.