Saw my mother for the first time in 4 years yesterday; last time we met, I had a different name.

She’s living in a cottage behind a couple’s house in Atherton. It is, in keeping with her talents, a most-impeccably decorated abode: museum-quality miniature living; an art project in filling space.

I’ve inherited some of her talent; we crawled around on the floor with tape measures, discussing the prospective presence of a new coffee table—how the light will affect it over the course of a day.