I’m walking around my sister’s house in her absence– there’s some immense, imprecise sadness– someone missing, dead? gone? something. there are rooms after rooms, and I’m amazed by the size of the house– just when I think I’ve tapped it, I discover a staircase to an upper level. the place is full of furniture from our grandmother, and I’m a little peeved that my sister has ended up with so much of it– but this isn’t real envy– I don’t actually want any of it myself, I’m just kind of awestruck by how put-together and grown-up and stylistically coherent and large my sister’s house is. she’s a new mom, and I’m trying to help with the baby but don’t really know what I’m doing.