I was flossing my teeth this morning when the church bells across the street started chiming a hymn of resurrection. “Oranges and lemons,” they sang to the tune of the aliens’ theme song in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Or-AN-ges, le-MONS! Or-AN-ges, le-MONS! Which is a coincidence because those are the precise ingredients I added to the Easter cupcakes Rob baked this morning. The bells are possibly in league with the NSA, spying on my traitorous kitchen, where we brew up meatloaf with a side dish of insurrection. The flossing was because I have a dentist appointment tomorrow, my first in almost six years. I figured I should not be mortified by having my gums spurt blood the instant he looks at them. The pressure is on even higher because my aunt is an assistant in this particular office, and I suspect I am in for a mouthful of dental work up to and including pulling out all my teeth and starting fresh.

At least it would be easier to floss.

Later, I took Goblin for her promenade around the neighborhood so she could water all the flowers. We encountered a family playing an ersatz version of four-square with a tennis ball, and as we watched, a couple of black kids came over to watch. “Would you guys like to play?” the mother asked in a South African accent.

The kids looked both pleased and reluctant. “We don’t know how.”

“It’s easy, just watch for a moment and you’ll pick it up.”

Goblin and I watched for a moment, too.

On this gorgeous spring day, bright and clear, warm of air and heart, it’s difficult to believe anything is wrong with the world. Just my teeth.