Lynn's Comments: When I was about 15, my dad's mother came to live with us for a few weeks. Weeks turned into months. It was my room she was given and I had to sleep in the unfinished basement. No matter how nicely my folks fixed it up, I was still banished from my own bed—looking at studs and drywall, watching for spiders and listening for things that go bump in the night. During the day, I'd go into my room for clothes and school supplies, and grandma's teeth would grin at me from a jar on my bedside table. I loved my grandmother but I was glad when she left so I could go back to the security and familiarity of my own space. My room smelled like "Grandma" for ages!