Just across the field stood a small house. In the yard the week's washing was hung out. Among the articles was a red tablecloth.

I can deal with this crew of workers.

The bardo in Tibetan means an intermediate state, most specifically the one after death when your soul wanders through the heavens and hell, trying to avoid rebirth into samsara—the realm of the material—and achieve nirvana or Buddhahood. […] Like everything the bardo journey takes place both inside you and outside. Like everything it's both a metaphor and not. I was born in the fifties in a nation suspended in the bardo state between a war a decade over and the hellsmoke light of a new war pulling in the East.

Our new puppy still urinates on the carpet, but we're toilet-training her.