The routine is firmly established for the Mallowman. Stumble out of bed, feed the critters, make a cup of coffee, go out to the deck to make sure the deer haven’t found their way into the vegetable and flower garden. Then come in and watch Morning Joe. In the meantime, Mo and Daisy have been out in the garden for a while, whined and carried on till they were let back inside, to make a beeline for Sherod, sitting on the sofa. “Pay attention to me, pay attention to me, love me, love me, love me!” they say. I get on with preparing to go to work, and most days, walk out to see my flower beds, then leave the three of them keeping each other company. I am always a little jealous as I leave—we have another funeral at Ascension on Thursday, the days are jam packed right now. That slower, gentler, pace the rest of my little family keeps is quite lovely to behold. But going into work, I never have the radio on in my car and I drive on Highway 80 through the gorgeous morning light on rolling hills, cotton fields and creeks. It’s my version of quiet. Maybe even of heaven.