I’m maneuvering the heaviest cottons first to hang on the clothes line in the spots that get the most of the fading sunlight on this December afternoon. Simon is exploring the yard dressed in a costume of timeless origins. Top hat, blazer, a Charlie Brown “Why Me?” t- shirt, and a leather belt worn like a gun holster. He’s talking to imaginary friends and stalking imaginary foes. My watch crystal casts a reflection on the faded grey redwood fence. This dot of light is darting back and forth transforming my laundry duties into a fast paced dance of light. I hear a diesel car idling on 11th street beyond the fence. I think to myself that I’ve been hearing more diesel engines on the road these days, their negative connotation slowly fading to one of green living. I think of our carbon footprint and I think of Neil Armstrongs’ footprint on the moon. I feel gypped. Where are the moving roads, personal jets packs, and rockets to Mars we were promised in our youth? I look up and see a jet streaking across the sky making a white horizontal contrail that mimics our clothes line. I tell Simon to come over and look at the sky quickly otherwise you’ll miss the rocket to Mars.