My mom died this month; while I was home in Victoria for her memorial I stayed with Dad. Looking around the house, enjoying the many memories of Mom, the fridge door caught my eye and it occurred to me, perhaps for the first time, how much these little vignettes reflect who we are. The freezer door is covered with things that describe my mother: the pictures of grandchildren and great-grandchildren; recipes that she had cut from the paper intending to try; clippings and business cards of events, friends, and family; all held to the door with magnets that she had collected in their travels. What were memories for her are now memories for me.