It is less of my being busy and more of my attempting to remember how. I'd rather not your first taste be a botched dish, Soleil.

[What had it looked like? Oh now that brought back a warm wave of memories. She takes a moment to find a stick and starts to draw out in thin lines what she remembers.]

It was an old building- very old. Updating the wiring and plumbing was a pain, apparently, but my father had most of that sorted by the time we were spending the summer there. It had three levels- a root celler where my father kept his wine, the main floor, and an upper floor that was partly an attic. It was made of worn stone and stained wood- the floor in the kitchen was a little warped but we learned to live with it.