"As Mikey brings the plate to rest in front of me he says quietly, 'Let’s toast Grandma and all of her cakes and all of her stories and all of her life.'  With that he takes his fork and brings a piece of that slice of chocolate cake up in front of his small tearstained face in a salute.  I sit transfixed at this blasphemy while my fork rises without hesitation or human help, goes over to the left side of my cake and grabs a medium sized morsel, advances to clink against its brother, then slowly ascends above my head, turns over and plops that morsel of cake square upon the top of my head.  It is then I know Grandma is back."

"The horses are in the far northwest corner watching the proceedings as if they are paying spectators waiting for the curtain to rise.  The cats are on the barn roof in the balcony seats.  The goats are nowhere to be seen; they are off stage waiting their cue.  The chickens are innocently cleaning up bugs next to the barn near the house and the geese are standing like picturesque statues lining the nearest bank of the creek, except for two who are hidden behind a low bush, next to the vegetable garden gate.  We should have counted the geese and been forewarned."

"Both my mother and her minister are gasping at the pentagram painted on the floor in the ritual room.  Then I roll up my sleeve and show them the five-pointed star I’ve painted on my arm as a tattoo.  It looks like a real tattoo; by the way, I did a good job.  All at once the candles in the room burst into flame and Mom spins on her heel and goes back downstairs without another word. "