Lying in front of the television set on a Sunday afternoon at my grandma’s house, I had no idea the amount of times that I would relive the words that she spoke to Dorothy, that she always had the power, the very things she needed… 

But I did know that it was magical, as it turned from black and white to color. And each year, as I inched my way closer and closer to the set, pulled relentlessly amid the warnings that I could go blind, somehow, even knowing the script by heart, it all came as a joyful surprise. 

I only had to make the slightest of cuts to get the birds to fit into the frame — a frame that was here long before I arrived in France. A frame that I passed over countless times. And then I saw it. Just the other day. I think I could make that fit, I thought. And sure enough, just a little off the sides, a little sanding, and voila! My birds were framed. And Glenda didn’t even have to say it, but I saw her out of the corner of my eye, coiffed and wanded, smiling as she always had. “Oh, Auntie Em, Uncle Henry!” I am home.