I am in a bedroom; I have just moved in. (It's similar to this new apartment I live in.) I am looking at a computer-like monitor that shows pictures and I see "The top of the world," a village in the alps, like. My mother is there, holding her son, my baby brother. He is 2 months old. My mother has red lipstick on and speaks with her jaw clenched. She says the recipe given this year with the calendar was "Yom Kippers" and she just wasn't going to make that. She wasn't up to it. Did I have my big box of recipes still? I said I did but it's probably in storage. I'd have to get everything out of storage and look for it. She hands the baby to me. I hold him. He's cute and I marvel at how he is my brother, and yet I have grandchildren older than he. It will be fun to have him around occasionally. I then get in bed, after giving the baby back to my mother. I am laying in a single bed and feel cold. I try to pull the blankets over me.