First off, she needed an establishing shot. She looked at her closet interior through her camera’s viewfinder. Her clothes were hanging packed together on a single rod, winter at one end, summer at the other. Shoes and handbags were heaped on the floor. If she’d been triplets, she’d still have had more than enough.

She snapped a picture. Next, she had to set up the camera to record the stop-action series. She mounted it on a tripod in the corner of the room and set up a pair of LED light pads on either side of the bed to cancel out shadows. Closed the window shades. Lit a scented candle on the windowsill. The candle was supposed to help you focus and find inner peace. It would also shrink as the filming progressed, a touchstone for the viewer.

Stage set, Emily pulled out clothing by the armload from the closet and mounded the pieces on one side of their king-sized bed. She set three empty plastic trash bags on the floor for discards, and tossed the orphaned clothes hangers in a corner, off-camera.

She looked at the pile through the viewfinder. What had seemed barely manageable hanging in a closet felt daunting piled on the bed. She adjusted the light and focus, then stepped back, making sure she wasn’t in the shot. She pressed the camera’s remote control, and she had her opening shot for the animation—the big mess. From now until she had the entire pile of clothing sorted, she’d have to keep the camera exactly where it was and take care not to bump the lights.

Emily snagged the topmost item, a pair of lined, cuffed wool trousers, an anachronism in today’s world of leggings and jeans. She spread the pants out on the bed. Took a picture. Ran her palms across the surface. Click. Smoothed them. Another click. Keep or toss? Easy decision. Moth holes and a lining that was disintegrating did not spark joy.

She crossed the trouser legs. Click. Crumpled them up. Click. Threw them into a garbage bag, and took a final picture of the empty spot on the bed. Then she checked the camera, running through the sequence to be sure the images were coming out crisp and clear.

Next item: a silky (polyester) white blouse with (the term made Emily cringe) a pussy bow. She’d worn it on the first day of school every year since she’d started teaching. It was her version of a power tie, designed to convey to even the most rambunctious kid that this teacher was not to be trifled with.

No more first day of school, no more proving herself to eight-year-olds, so no need for a blouse with a pussycat bow. Best of all, no more time wasted teaching the fine art of filling in bubbles on answer sheets.