I get in a car, on Bell Road just below my parents' house. But first I check in the trunk, to see a bag that somebody packed for me for a trip to the beach. It's a small black duffel like one might use for sports, and I remark jokingly that whoever packed it did a pretty good job, they pack better than I do.

But I have to look through it and make sure it has what I need, and I see a stack of about four pairs of folded jeans. No, that won't do, they just grabbed some jeans off a pile in my closet, they probably don't even fit, and the ones on top are really old and have huge holes worn in the pant legs. We're going to have to go back and repack.