A beaded curtain separated the TV room from the shell room stuffed with odd objects. Glass shelves in display cabinets overflowed with shell necklaces, chandeliers, ornaments imported from the Philippines. Remnants of Grandpa’s School Street liquor store were stashed above it all--a Kool Lights cigarette sign and a plastic lit Mountain Dew wall display with a clock and waterfall. I drew Wonder Woman, my favorite TV super hero on a wall chalkboard beside Grandpa’s block letters, “Man’s Moral Concept.”
       Just outside were the legions of cats that Grannie fed trays of kitchen scraps most afternoons. One morning in the shady ferns Dad asked if I wanted to see some baby cats. He led me quietly to a new born litter of kittens. I could hardly believe how small they were, so completely formed, their mewing cries and pink bellies alien to me.
       Grannie’s small kitchen was beside the TV room. It was here that Dad taught me how to wash rice, an essential skill for all Filipinos. As I massaged the rice in cloudy water, I

 


drained the bowl, grains of rice escaping into the sink. I repeated the process again until the water ran clear. “Grannie never drops a single grain,” Dad explained, those words still with me now each time I prepare rice.
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