There are many memories of my childhood and my relationship with my grandparents. My grandmother skillfully used the needle and thread to sew the first dresses for my dolls. She had two braids. One is hiding in a small box. The other one was braided like ivy around her chubby cheek. Memories are stored in our hair. The braids used to come back in my dreams. Can you read from someone else’s plaits? I liked it when she turned all the lights off and talked about wartime. Difficult subjects remained in German. I didn’t understand. My granddad used plasticine to make strange animals and moon-shaped creatures and created some figures in the garden. He used to set up birdhouses and tables of things found by accident. He didn’t talk much. I admit I was a little scared of him. In that place were also parts of the corpses of some broken dolls. I felt the secret of these crippled bodies. In the silent eyes, the terrified Demiurge’s face was reflected. The beauty of flowering accompanied these bizarre and seemingly ugly creatures. I remember sweet peonies in the shadow of hunchbacked cherry trees.