Lydia and I are cleaning up my papers There are lists and bulk and so on. I'm not sure which ones are mine or hers. Her Mexican husband comes home. A small girl is happy to see him. They play wrestle and tickle and he is laying down and she is telling him she is growing books. He says, "Where?" and pretends to search her body for these books. He looks in her armpit and says, "Here?" "No!" giggles the girl, and I see a file folder on the dresser and try to choose a few bills out of it, but then decide to take the whole folder home and go through it and throw out the old stuff.