It is the last day of April and we just returned from nine months in Europe. I’m cooking red beans and rice from an Internet recipe and Lily’s practicing piano with her teacher via FaceTime since we’re on lockdown now for two months. I lean on one leg and that’s why I have lower back pain, the chiropractor says. I’m watching Dawn weed the beds out front with her beer, she needs time to herself. Home schooling Charlotte is hard. I walk to the lake every morning and it’s so automatic it’s like feeding the dog or giving Lily her pill, it’s easy to forget. Today the red lamp was on at the house on the lake. Each day I imagine more about its occupants. I know what cars they drive but never see anyone inside. I picture someone in a recliner by that lamp in the early morning reading while I come and go at the lake, watching the geese, looking for eagles. Normally the anglers would be crowded on the dock by now but not this year, I have it all to myself. There’s a laminated sign posted dissuading group gatherings. I remember it’s the end of April and think back four years ago, when we came back from Germany. Picture the cherry blossoms and lush feel of the northwest, forgetting how rich it feels this time of year. We wait for packages to arrive now, forgetting what we ordered. It’s like Christmas, always a surprise. Today I went to the store, the first time in two weeks. Five hundred dollars, lots of meat and wine. The clerk said I’ve never seen someone spend that much in the u-scan! You should ring a bell, I joked. And then I went home and threw out my gloves, got in the shower and put it all away.