I have a great memory of some experiences and adventures I had as a kid. My Dad died when I was 10 days old and my mother moved my brother and I to her parents house on Cape Cod. When we arrived, my mother placed me in my Grandmother’s arms and care. For the next 5 years she was in charge of me and I have only a vague memory of my mother during that time. My brother who was 3 1/2 years older than me, stayed with my mom. Grandmother, or Nanny as we called her, said he was a handful and the grownups in the both houses were concerned for my well being. He had “cracked” my head when he snatched me out of my bassinet and then dropped me. Another time while Nanny and I were sleeping in her bed he lit the wallpaper and sheets on fire and we barely escaped! As I grew up in that house I remember being drawn to that section of charred wallpaper and often begged to be told the story again and again.