My childhood home was previously owned by my great grandmother. Downstairs was the tile room, which became, among other things, my father’s workroom. There was also my old bedroom, and a bathroom with an ancient metal tub and a gravity flushed toilet. Upstairs, the room that had once housed an aging widow became my, as well as Sister and Brother’s bedroom. I don’t know where Brother came from. I don’t even remember Mother having been pregnant again. The living room still had the ugly green carpet and Franklin stove. The kitchen was a sort of wide hallway which went nowhere, but it had a stove, refrigerator, and a small portal window overlooking the lower canyon. There was a door from the living room into a hallway which led to my parents’ bedroom to the left, and the one bathroom we shared straight ahead. There was a tub, toilet, and a window overlooking the canyon and more prominently, Goat Mountain.