We lived in this itty bitty rural mining town in Arizona. Kearny, it’s called. It’s still there, hasn’t grown much. Always been around 2000 people living there. Daddy used to say that we lived “smack dab in the middle of town,” and we did. We lived right next to the steep, concrete steps that connect all the streets in the middle. On the sides there are two long streets that went all the way up and down town. It isn’t easy to get lost there, but I managed it more than once as a kid. Anyway, here we are on a Sunday morning having pancakes. My dad’s pancakes are famous. It’s something about the texture. Nothing like them anywhere. Don’t you think this should be an add for Log Cabin Syrup? I do. Anyway, I used to schlep my violin up those steps for lessons every week. I never practiced. I hated taking violin lessons. I just never really took to it. I wish I had, though. Here we are with the Dempsey and Chase kids. We got into more trouble together. We’re a bunch of middle aged people now. But then, we were girls and boys with a definite sense of ourselves as people. Look at LeslieAnne. She was the tragic princess. Danny was a wise old man even then. Today, he’s the most evident manifestation of god’s clear wish that married men be priests. Don was the oldest, and everybody looked up to him. I had skinned knees all the time from riding my bike down the concrete steps, and I mean RIGHT DOWN THE STEPS. I inevitably crashed every time and just had constant scabs on my knees. I still have the scars. If I wasn’t skinning my knees, I was up in the tree in the back yard. I used to hang from it for hours. I visited about 11 years ago. The house and the tree were still there. Nobody was home and I climbed up in that tree and looked around at the world. Everything’s pretty much the same, but it’s all gotten much smaller.