Do you remember sitting in front of that magnificent fireplace at Grandma's house and tossing some kind of dust into the fire that made the flames turn different colors? I just read something (in Neil Gaiman's Stardust) that made me think of it. When did people stop turning their fires different colors? It was such a lovely thing to do. Grandma used to burn trash in the fireplace. It was fun when she burned wax-covered paper milk cartons because sometimes, when they were sealed up and burned just right, they would explode. Mostly, the milk came in glass bottles, though, and they were delivered to the house. She would also roll up newspapers into logs, then twist them to keep them tight, and burn them too. The days before recycling.

We both started school when we were four. Four! When I look at four-year-olds now, I see babies. They're barely past being toddlers, they don't really remember stuff in detail yet (at least I don't). That is too young to be thrust into a school setting, even if it is only kindergaten. I wish I'd been allowed to wait until I was five; maybe I wouldn't have been so small in comparison with my classmates, and not so damned shy. You seemed to do okay with it, though, and you were even younger. But you weren't so tiny.

I have vague memories of being in Berkeley and Oakland quite early, but nothing concrete. It's funny, but I seem to have a sense of each of them as food: 1719 Rose Street is cottage cheese; 5482 Kales Avenue is lamb chops and tuna fish sandwiches. I have a clear memory of a blackout while staying at Grandma's-- walking from the dining room to the kitchen and having the lights go out just before reaching that swinging door. Lala had a big stash of canned food in the basement. That was where the tuna came from, and it was a special treat-- Lala made the tuna sandwiches. Grandma made the lamb chops.