Beaded burst.Flash bulb memory

When a string of beads breaks a single ring instantly becomes many little pieces. What we see. what we remember. I went for dinner at a friends house. She had recently moved into an old victorian style house and was in the process of restoring it. Her entry hallway was situated east to west. From entering her front door on the east you could see the back door down he hall to the west. The walls are unfinished gypsum board with an incidental lavender wash. The wall boards are attached with black screws and eight penny tacks. When I got there at dusk I went to one of the large rooms to the south of the main entrance hallway. The hall way is the remainder of empty space between the wall of this room to the south and the stairway leading to the second floor starting ten foot overhead. Considerable time had been spent on the staircase as evidenced by its detailed panels, balustrades and newel posts. Every thing but the black handrails and newel posts heads was clad in white enamel, crackling naturally with years of hot summers and winters warmed from multiple ornate fireplaces. The backdoor was fitted with a large sheet of red glass in its top half so as to match the vitreous garland of red panes that adorned the paneled side lights of the front door. On this particular afternoon the sun decided to lay hands on that hallway. The staircase was bathed in red.