An impressive number of my aunties have lived with their families in the same houses for years. Decades really. Visiting now marries space WITH time: There’s me-self of today and there is the me of yesterday tagging along, small but noisy.

I walk up the stairs of one auntie’s trilevel along with me’s of yore: tot-size hide-and-seeker; very bored and very boring 12-year-old; a just-married with a puffed up sense of being a just-married; a nap-deprived Mom with a lot less puff; and a quieter female who today is seeking quiet from the shrills of new hide and seekers also visiting. That’s alot of me’s in one place.

The stairs don’t seem different but I suppose they are. I don’t seem different but I suppose I am.