We were around 11 years old in 1978. Her name was Tammy. Out in the rural noman’s- land between Seagoville and Combine, she was the only other kid on the street. We weren’t neighbors, mind you. There was a good 1.5 miles between our houses. In a time before boogeymen stole children and pre-video game invention, we were left to our own devices most days. On the other hand, I can’t recall a single time Tammy rode her bike to my house. Maybe I liked her mom’s name brand snacks better than the boxes of scratch and dent things my father magically procured from the unclaimed freight house in downtown Dallas. I digress. With our tiny fingers, we were the original origami artisans, intricately folding wide rule notebook paper into complicated triangles of lotus flower petals. The game was called MASH, I believe. M was for mansion. A was for apartment. S was for shack. H was for just a plain old house. But, before we could determine who we would marry, how many children we would have, and where we would live, a series of questions would ensue. “What’s your favorite number?” I would answer – 8. She would insert her fingertips into the tiny triangles, pulling them apart and pushing them back together 8 times, revealing a world of details written inside every fold and crevice. Tammy counted under her breath in a whisper, lips barely moving. “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Ok. You’re going to marry Robby Benson.” We shrieked with laughter. “What’s your favorite food?” We would continue asking questions about favorite this and favorite that, counting letters and moving fingers, little papyrus fortune-tellers that we were. I’ve been thinking about the MASH game lately, especially at Christmas. I’ve gone to a few parties this season where “bring a gift that represents one of your favorite things” was the direction. I thought maybe we could tell each other about some favorite things. I’ll go first, ok?