When Jim and I saw the round red target staring up through its cellophane wrapper, we snatched the package and scampered up the attic stairs. I never imagined the cigarettes belonged to anyone. I thought they were left behind and long since forgotten . . . Before World War II, at big family gatherings in the country, I found glory in acting big, romping with my brother and cousin, challenging a banty rooster, braving a treacherous bridge, taming a wild kitten, jumping from a haymow, and other country adventures. Compared to those Sunday highlights, life in our cramped three room house in Windsor paled. Mom tried to make a nice home and spice up her kids’ lives, but as often as we could, my brother and I burst from that house to make our own fun slaying enemies, building architectural marvels, and eluding the Rivvel Woman. In this book, I muse about my grandmother’s late nineteenth century life, travel through my 1930s and 1940s childhood, face childhood’s end, then step into the twenty-first century and peek at the last days of the few aunts and uncles left from those big family gatherings.