There is something so right about being home.
Some things never change, although the players do.
The ten-to-twelve-year-old cousins in the backyard, almost too old for imagination games, and beginning to discuss those growing pains of young adolescence. When the world first starts to spin.
Rook games at one table,
Hand-and-Foot at another.
Holding the newest baby.
The three-year-old runs around and around my chair, “Is it my turn to plaaaaay yet?”
Grown-ups discuss politics and family gossip.
Do you remember when you wanted to be a part of the grown-up table?
We’re all trying to grow up too fast . . . and then we try to seem younger than we actually are.