My earliest memories are very, very early. I can remember being outside in the garden with my mother, in the warm California sunshine, and looking way up to the top of the artichoke plant that reached high above my head. I remember my stripey cat hiding under the pepper plants and my white cat fussing if I pulled her tail (I did it, I remember). Inside, the hardwood floors felt cool on my bare legs, and the top of the refrigerator was way, way up high. The yard was endless and always green and the grass was soft and we ran around on it barefoot all day. The mailbox was way above my head, too, and the end of the street was the end of the world. I have been back to that house and it was amazing to see how tiny the yard and the house and even that street really are — back then when I was small, everything else was huge and just out of reach. But mostly I remember it was always sunny, except for Christmas when it rained.