Whenever I went into a normal home, with a normal family, I would get tense—what was all that stuff for? So many spoons, forks, cups. The simplest things would confound me…the very basics. For instance, why would anyone need two pairs of shoes? I’m still indifferent to possessions, to domesticity. Yesterday, my daughter-in-law called: “I’m trying to find a brown gas stove.” They remodeled, and now she’s looking for everything brown for her kitchen—furniture, curtains, dishes—she wants it to look like a foreign magazine. She spends hours on the phone. Her apartment is full of advertisements and
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