I bought a dresser from an estate sale, I painted it in “Mouse’s Back.” I baked a Christmas cake, presoaking the fruit in cognac purloined from the liquor cabinet. I cleaned out my bathroom drawers, all those cosmetic samples with their illusory promises. I wrote a honey-do list for my husband. He ignored it. I gathered in the fruits of my garden a single enormous pumpkin bought for Halloween and still uncut. I cut it open discovered a thick substratum of flesh, beading moisture betwixt seed and skin I felt parsimonious. I made 5 gallons of pumpkin soup. A pumpkin pie. 12 pumpkin muffins. 10 cups of pumpkin purée to be frozen for future use,…