The view from my table

This morning, while reading the paper and drinking coffee, I saw three vehicles in succession, about twenty seconds apart, go by. The first was a police car, the second an ambulance, the third another township car of some kind that probably had to do with medical examination. 
All three passed at an unhurried pace with no alarms. Clearly, they were going to remove a body, probably that of an elderly person who had died in his or her house under medical supervision.

Now chances are good that the remaining person in the house, likely the spouse, will move. The house will be purchased by a developer and torn down. Its replacement will be much larger than the original structure, which is probably a two-story Colonial, but fairly in keeping with the neighborhood, unlike the grotesque stucco mansions common in the late 1990s. It is the way of how things are in this area. The house I live in—my late parents'—is also a "tear down." It was built in 1952. Although my parents made many tasteful improvements like skylights and a family room, it doesn't have a full bathroom for each bedroom and the high ceilings and ample floor space today's house buyers expect.
Today is also one of the two trash collection days here. Cans and bins are at the end of all driveways. Watching workers in large trucks remove refuse on the same day as a body is taken out of a house can lead one to draw an uncomfortable parallel.