when my grandmother died, my parents packed up all of her dishes, trinkets, costume jewelry, linens, letters and photos and put the boxes up in their attic where they sat for many years. one summer when i was home and my kids were in camp, my mother asked me to go through it all. i call it my “v.c. andrews summer” as i sat up there like a flower in the attic (minus the incestuous sibling relationships and arsenic laced cookies) sorting and organizing and labeling everything for weeks. i was allowed out each evening to join everyone for dinner, but after i dropped the kids at camp each day, i climbed the skinny wooden ladder and crawled through the small opening at the top (bonking my head most days) and continued my work. it was easy to focus because there was no cell reception and it was such a pain in the popper to come down that i just didn’t.