As a young girl, I was fiercely protective of my parents’ rooms and the admission of random people in it, possible as we lived in a joint Indian family open to public access being on the ground floor. I also used to be very interested in keeping things in place, exactly where they were from before (a habit I still keep thanks to grandmother).
The advantage of the ground floor of course was easy access to the garden mud and roses through the big windows. The windows had sills which could seat me and big wooden frames that were generally open for air, because there were no ceiling fans. A July or mid August hot day only just meant an occasional table fan and keeping the windows open.
I have few documented memories of those short summers stacked away in hard drives seldom used. Except that it just came back to me. In Munich.