I remember there being just one small mirror in my Grandparents house. It was a hand held vanity mirror, not especially ornate, more functional than decorative. I remember the mirror sat above the fireplace accumulating dust in the house where my Grandfather and Uncle lived. I would pick it up when I visited, play acting as I imagined my Grandmother holding it while she brushed her hair, turning one way, then the other. I don’t know if she ever did that, she died before I was born, but my sense of her with that mirror is so vivid that it feels real.