The times they are a-changin'

It's a Tuesday morning. I'm wearing sweatpants and an old sweatshirt, and I'm drinking ginger ale and eating crackers, as I recover from yesterday's stomach virus. I'm sitting on a beat-up couch in the boys' bedroom, a messy room filled with blankets and books and crumpled white socks. I've just spent a few minutes adjusting the rabbit ears on an old television set that is propped up under a big black-and-white poster of a young Bob Dylan.

The boys are at school and my husband is at work, but I'm on sabbatical. I should be down at my desk, writing, but I'm not. It's very rare for me to have the television on, especially in the daytime — it's something I reserve for momentous occasions. My laptop is on, and I am reading messages from friends, family members, and former students. As it gets closer to noon, my daughter wanders in sleepily in pajama pants and a t-shirt, and sits next to me on the old couch that Boy in Black sawed in half, carried upstairs, and rebuilt.

Outside, it's cold and the ground is covered with snow. I look around the room. A homemade R2D2 is shoved in the corner, bandanas hang from a lamp, a cat pounces on the couch, a DVD set of Heroes sits on the edge of the bookcase, and my daughter stares at the television set while we both listen intently. I memorize the details. This is a moment I want to remember.