Sometimes, probably seeking a reprieve from the hubbub of grandchildren under the grape arbor, Grandma would come upon me in the living room. In every instance, she would gently but pointedly tell me that she wouldn’t be around forever. Is there anything of hers that I would want when
Eventually, something would interrupt the welcoming flow of conversation between my parents and grandparents under the grape arbor—younger children squabbling or someone needing attention. The stories were over. For now. Now it was time to slip inside unnoticed and alone. Once we had passed through the grape vines and
The annual twenty-four-hour drive from Virginia to Minnesota in our red, fifteen-passenger van always culminated in a welcome under my grandmother’s grape arbor. All eight, nine, ten, eleven of us would pile out of the van, pass through the gate of her white picket fence suffused in tiger lilies
We met the Schleners by accident one Saturday. A few of us were in the front yard when Mr. Schlener and his five children, ages ten and under, took a shortcut from their home that backed up to the neighbors across our cul-de-sac. They suddenly appeared in the neighbor’s
When the weather was nice on weekend afternoons, Dad would often take all six of us kids on bike rides so Mom could get something done without everyone underfoot. We would depart after a flurry of activity—pumping umpteen flat tires, gathering helmets and water bottles and sweatshirts, buckling the