That big Outside

Eat? No. Drink another glass of iced, green tea. That'll tide you over until dinner. What's for dinner? Rosemary lamb and vegetables. Asparagus with sauteed garlic and walnuts.

Screams of "DADDY! DADDY! come from the nursery. Toddler is trying to beckon a friendly ally to rescue him from his afternoon nap. It isn't working, and five more minutes will find him peacefully asleep.

Dogs lie in the living room air conditioner by my un-pedicured feet. Dishes wait to be pre-scrubbed for the dishwasher.

Check email; 0 unread messages. Modern tragedy. Fan oscillates. Birds chirp in that big world outside my door, that big outside that I miss sometimes. Dishes still wait. Dried egg on skillet from brunch.

Get ready to sell possessions on front lawn to "simplify life." How eery and preternatural it will seem to see people pawing over my things on a Saturday afternoon, haggling over them, putting them down or taking them home. Becoming someone else's things.

Come to terms with losing the Lexus with its bad transmission and bad alternator and cracked windshield and old tires and bad brakes. But how that CD changer and sunroof worked for you! And how its red worked, too. Put it to bed and let it lie, for crying out loud. Like so many other things.