I am fixing things inside and outside of the house. I have help, from Uncle Lionel and other men and maybe some women. I run from the outside to the inside and back, telling them what I want. I have to tell them where I want them to start clipping the hedge; they are starting at the wrong end. And then inside I have to tell them what kind of shelves and where I want them. It feels like they aren't very helpful. They argue with me and don't think ahead. I scurry back and forth, frustrated.