Holly, raise your hand.

Any time not in school was spent at my grandmother’s house in Griffith, one block from the paper mill that still stands. If you have ever been there you know that smell, that Griffith smell. My sister and I were always being baby sat by my grandma. I can remember the first time I noticed the trains that shook the house. It may have been the first time I was allowed to sleep outside the crib and graduate to the living room couch. That first night I was kept up by the constant trains going by a hundred yards from the dark little house. It felt oppressive, like no one could possibly rest like this. I lied awake staring at the ceiling and watching the leaves on the potted plants quiver with a tight rhythm. It is amazing how fast I got accustomed to it. After only a few nights the trains ceased to shake me from sleep and became my nocturne, a sweet resonating drone humming through not just me, but all of us.