On the day of the Fluxus class, Griff's proprietary kiss in the school courtyard lingered on her mind as her students entered the classroom, bringing with them containers of all materials, sizes, and shapes. In a colorful pile on a class studio table was a collection of small objects: toy animals and toy people from a Berkeley toy store; discarded childhood toy cars once stored in students' former homes; unidentified objects once stuffed into Christmas stockings, debris washed onto the shores of Pacific beaches, lost lucky objects that Griff had contributed from adventures on football fields.

In Caydance's six hour studio class, the morning was lecture and discussion; the afternoon began with trading boxes; segued into proposals and the assembling of content. It wasn't until after class when she returned by herself to her San Francisco studio that the three day separation from Griff felt like forever. Looking out her window at the view of the Bay, she remembered how on the morning of their wedding, they ate breakfast together in her studio, while on the bed, bags packed for their honeymoon, lay ready to be loaded into car. She looked across the room. noticed with surprise that when they left for her school in the morning, Griff had forgotten to take his overnight bag. Among bluegreen pillows, it lay on the blue quilt on her bed.