She woke up, it was still dark out. Right. The time change. It was almost 7, but still dark. She hadn't slept well and had moved from her bed to this smaller bed in the guest room. She had been reading on her phone. Oh yes, the new book about the "lady cop" from Hackensack. For some reason, this series about a pioneering woman deputy sheriff in the early 20th century had a calming effect. This latest one was more about Constance's relationship with her sisters and the nation's slide toward participating in the war against Germany. The Kopp family had been from Germany a few generations back, but hopefully they won't suffer from hate. She picked up the iPhone and continued reading. It was cozy under the comforter. Let the heat do its workk and the sun come up. A few minutes later, she was awake enough to get up and shuffle to the bathroom. She was old and didn't jump out of bed quite as easily as she had when she was younger. Always a morning person, eager to see what the day would bring. Now she knew pretty much what would happen, nothing much. In a way, she was grateful not to have anything to worry about; no surprises, nowhere she had to be. At the same time, nothing to anticipate joyously. She carefully inserted the contact lenses that allowed her to see things in focus, one of the technological, scientific and medical advances for which she was grateful. Although she had a pair of glasses she wore when she wasn't wearing the contacts, she didn't see much detail with them and took them off to read in bed. As she woke up more, she walked more easily into the front of the house, where the dog curled up on the rug. She was even older, at least in dog years, and scarcely glanced at her mistress, enough to show Alice she was still alive. That was something to worry about, one of these days she would have to arrange to deal with the dog's body. She couldn't pick him up and transport him to be cremated. And she certainly couldn't bury him in the backyard, as her husband had done with two previous dogs at a previous house. She smiled to herself as she prepared her tea for the morning. Today she would have one scoop of Irish Breakfast and one scoop of chai--half as muh caffeine but with the flavor she enjoyed. She put the tea caddy in the carafe. It was probably fifty years old and had come from a consignment shop, originally meant, no doubt, to serve coffee. When the water in the kettle on the stove boiled, she poured it into the carafe to steep. Meanwhile, she got out her favorite mug (there were two the same, so she always had at least one to pick off the shelf) and put a little sugar in the bottom. The sugar was in a tall ceramic cannister, with a long-handled ceramic spoon. It was not very practical, but gave her pleasure. One of these days, the spoon might break and then she would use a scoop--generally easier, but not as pleasurable. Then she found the bread, wrapped in a plastic bag from a commercial loaf she had bought last time she ran out of homoe-made bread. She pulled the cutting board from its spot on the counter, a nice oval of wood with a hole for a handle. She put the rest of the loaf on the board and got the long serrated knife out of the drawer (why does a bread knife have those sharp points on the end? to pull the toast out of the toaster?). She really enjoyed having the right tools to do something--not too many, just enough. She sliced the bread. As it was nearing the end of the loaf, it was getting staler and harder to slice, but she managed. One slice of whole wheat bread, made by her own hand, in the toaster. One of these days, she might get a better toaster. This one was not very pretty and often made the breasd too dark. It, too, had come from a consignment shop and still had the word toaster written on the side in permanent marker. She had tried to get it off. When the toast was done, she applied salted butter from the butter dish and took a bite. The first bite was the best. When the tea seemed the right color and it had been long enough, she poured it into the cup, got a spoon out and stirred it around to distribute the sugar. Yes, that was what she needed, a sip of tea and a bite of toast to start her day. It was the simple, predictable things about her life that made her happy. What to do first? She put away the clean dishes. She mused about what it would have been like 100 years ago or so, to have a maid or a faithful butler--or a whole staff to look after her. She would have had even less to do with her days. Help getting dressed, help dealing with minor challenges like dog bodies. Someone to drive her places--where would she go? To the dress shop, to have a new gown made? To call on her friends at their houses? Or, maybe she would have been the maid, scrubbing floors until she couldn't get down on her knees any more and then what? The sun was starting to come in, one of the things she loved about her winter house. It seemed that there were more sunny days here. Even when it was cold in the morning (today it was 30, according to the weather app), it would most likely be quite pleasant by afternoon, when she would take the dog out for a walk to the end of the dead-end street. Their little neighborhood was pleasant, although she would rather not have her neighbors quite so close. The people on one side had several pickup trucks parked in the yard and their drive was very close to the house on one side. When they got in or out of the trucks, the slamming door seemed very loud. The dog would bark sometimes. She dreamed of more space. Early in the day like this, it was quiet except for birdsong. But as you walked to the end of the street, you could hear cars going by on the highway, a constant roar. There was a big brick wall behind the houses on that side of the cross street, Sovereign, but it must have always been noisy to live there. She had a sort of filter that blocked it out most of the time, but sometimes she wished the street were open the other way, so she could walk away from the noise. In that direction was Ellerbe Creek. There were squirrels and other critters that plagued the vegetables and herbs she was trying to grow that probably lived along the creek bank. Yesterday had been a tutoring day. She had registered with the volunteer organizaion when she arrived a few months earlier and expressed interest in this assignment. She met with Mariela twice a week. Yesterday she found out the girl would be 11 soon. She seemed bright and lively, enjoyiing their time together and doing her work willingly and easily. She really didn't know why she needed a tutor, but suspected it had more to do with the fact that her mother spoke Spanish to her most of the time. Alice knew some Spanish and was able to converse with Clara, but her communication with the student was in English. She let her pick out books to read to her and she seemed to enjoy them, especially silly stories. She had no trouble reading, but almost read too fast, not always understanding the words. Alice stopped and asked her questions from time to time, trying to get her to think about what she was reading. She had also spent time at the shop, working on her sewing projects. She had hemmed a red cape she was working on. The fabric was Brussels washer, accoring to the women in the shop. It amused her to know that, but she didn't really know what it meant. She supposed it originally was from Belgium? Thanks to the internet, she can find out. It is a specific line of fabric from a specific brand and is made of linen and rayon. So... The cape had a flowery lining.