Yesterday I went for a long cathartic walk with an old friend, made mashed potatoes and brussels sprouts for dinner, and then listened to the men I love sit on the couch and watch football, which they hardly ever do but which entertained us all. I find football the most boring of sports, but I love the comfort of game sounds. I like the treat of arranging dinner plates on the coffee table. I like never knowing what's going on in the plays, and I like hearing the boys debate the big moments I miss when I wander into the kitchen to make hot chocolate. Tom has spent the past two days driving back and forth to Harmony to cart away the last of his enormous shop tools. Paul has been working six- and seven-day weeks at the theater. I have been swallowing grief. An evening spent in front of a game we didn't care about was exactly what we needed.