I remember the old black woodstove that my parents stored toys in.

I remember having to look at a TV Guide to find out what shows were on.

I remember having fun sitting on the floor of the living room on Hilltop Dr. trying to come up with ways to make a tiny Sophie smile or even laugh.

I remember the small red shelf or end table in which Mom and Dad at one time kept their record collection -- and I still possess it, although I only have two of their records: Stevie Wonder's Talking Book and the original cast recording of Jesus Christ Superstar.

I remember only two of my coworkers at the Wisconsin Dept. of Administration, an older homeless guy who gave me some good jazz recommendations, and a young guy from McFarland who bragged about his drug connections until I called his bluff and asked him to get me some shrooms.

I remember that Pepto-Bismol always made me throw up when my mother gave it to me for an upset stomach.

I remember Danielle's friend Gretchen doing my 1992 taxes.

I remember as a child I would walk down a sidewalk avoiding the cracks because "Step on a crack, break your mother's back."

I remember that Bill's bedroom on NE 25th Street had a built-in bed with drawers underneath and shelves with sliding doors above where Mom stored the extra bedding. (The bed in the middle bedroom upstairs on NW 25th Street was the same one.)