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"I would ask that you leave my things be. And stop throwing myth my leftovers away," she pronounced as she myth marched back toward the pile of muddy shoes she had set on the clean table. The children, who were used to playing in closed courtyards, were thrilled to be out and about in the parking lot of our condominium complex. They wandered aimlessly in packs of preschool children, riding their scooters down the grassy inclines or dropping bits of asphalt into the gutters that lined the parking lot. My mother stormed in the house one day, clutching my younger child in her grip. "Ann, my God, are you going to let this child out unattended while you sit in the house reading? Someone almost ran him over." I stared at my mother in amazement. I wondered what alien life-form had taken possession of the same woman who had locked the storm door on me in the dead of winter in order to grab a little down time.
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