Meet Betty. Sister of Alice (not shown). A nice exchange with a neighbor of my brother’s revealed the names. “And who’s the dog?” “Pixie.” Good name for a pitbull mix I decided, if a little ironic. I later realized that the daughter on the garage swing went unmentioned.

If there’s a way to reverse the chair’s strap buckle, I’ll reverse it. If the leg brace Velcro needs to go one way, I’ll wind the strap and discover I’ve got it the wrong way ‘round. Same for the arm brace. The brown shoulder tape goes on top of the white tape, not the reverse as it turns out. And I used the wrong scissors, making the task nearly impossible.

Feeling incompetent is nothing compared to being disabled, I should note.

The tall person kitchen: I need a ladder (not a footstool) to get the rice cooker or Dutch oven down. Hard to hang up the colander with the collapsing handle to the over-the-sink pot holder. I don’t use the Revere Ware with their flopping metal loop handles for that reason. I’m at least four inches shy of making them work.

At least it only took me a day to master the sleek coffee-maker-and-grinder-in-one. It sounds like a jet engine at times. Some phases it spits water. Others, coffee. Could’ve been intimidating.

It’s uncomfortable to be out of my element but I’m aware that my brother would kill to have a chance to fumble around in someone else’s kitchen.

These comparisons remind me of what I have in terms of my own strength and skills. They instill gratitude and act as a balm against frustration.

Am I more tired than last June’s visit? Maybe. Noticing that I don’t feel quite as useful as well. No need to comment on those comparisons, which may or may not be true.

Besides, there’s a major win to share. Check out my brother’s left-handed rendering of fishing rod and reel, boot, and trout. From memory. It’s beautiful. Stunning, really. And I helped — by ordering the sketchbook and pencils, and maybe by channeling the spirit of our mother-the-art-teacher.