Somehow I live with an accordion- and piano-playing, figure-skating, ballet- and ballroom-dancing, aerobics-springing, horseback-riding, English-teaching, kid- and hair-raising woman a dozen years my junior. I'm afraid to look. Is that telephone doodling or Sanskrit? Is that a vacuum cleaner or a time machine? Next time I trip over my laces, I'll claim I'm learning to be a stunt man and hope she doesn't produce a cannon and net from under the bed.