As a child, I remember my grandmother used to come and visit us in Connecticut for the summer. Escaping from the searing Florida sun, she and grandpa would drive up in their old Desoto station wagon, arriving with the robins in early April. As the leaves began to fall after Halloween, they would pack up their belongings and head south again, to return to the warmth of the southern lifestyle in winter.
I have some terrific memories of spending time together with them and our lives were enriched for the experiences shared seasonally with our extended family. Story telling, playing cards, going fishing and my bad haircuts come immediately to mind.
Now being older, I have come to discover that we all need our “space” at times. We need room to grow, room to breathe, room to be ourselves. Like chocolate ice cream, sometimes too much of a good thing is not good – it’s just too much.
Which is why I will always remember Grandma, while getting ready to shove-off back home at the end of one summer, describing to us her theory of relativity: “Relatives are like dead fish; after three days they both stink.”
And I fondly remember laughing – and helping – grandma and grandpa pack to head home.