I would consider my reconstruction nearly complete. I walk, I cook, I leap tall buildings in a single bound. There are just a few minor details: socks are still a problem—I can't put them on, I can't squat down and bounce back up (really never could),  I can't lift sacks of potting soil, can't shave my legs, and may never again be nimble.  I have become an expert at using the grabber-stick—I pick pins up off the floor, open drawers, remove jars from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, and empty wastepaper baskets. All my amazing feats come to a halt, however, if I drop the grabber-stick; then I call for Bob.

The new bionic hip continues to settle in—causes almost no pain, complains less and less when slept on, is able to carry it's own weight—all in all, everything you'd want in a titanium product. We're off to SoCal on Thursday so we'll see how the new hip travels. It will most certainly delay me at the security gate. If I should have to take off my socks, I'll never see San Diego.

On a serious note, Bob's brother JIm died on Friday after a long, struggle with cancer. We picked up brother Tom, back from Florida, at the airport yesterday then drove up to Bellingham to visit the family. Jim was an old-fashioned family man, sweet, quiet and kind. He died surrounded by his wife Audrey, his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He lived an honorable life and will be missed.

The below family picture was taken fifty years ago. Jim is the one in the back row with the glasses and tie.