When I was about eight or nine years old, my grandma gathered all three of us granddaughters, my cousin Sean, my little (at the time, now she towers over me) sister, and me, into the family room of her Ashland hills house and pointed through the fragile glass doors of a carefully-treasured case to the three sets of china that she had waiting for us. One for each granddaughter, differently-colored for differently-personalitied girls. Green and gold with straight-edged patterns, pale blue and silver in little floral loops, and blush-pink, full of little roses. That one was destined for Kendra, whose middle name is Rose, and who was about 4 years…