We pulled into the gravel driveway a punctual half hour before our expected arrival. Great, I thought, an extra hour I would be waste at my grandparents'. Wasn't it good enough that I was spending the entire weekend here? Did we have to get there so soon? When you are thirteen, each minute at your grandparents' is like sitting through an oration of the entire set of the World Book Encyclopedia. Climbing out of the car, my sister and I apathetically walked across the driveway to the brick sidewalk, past the patch of towering sunflowers, and around to the back screen door.
             As we opened the squeaky door, we passed from the bright sun of a spring day in Pennsylvania onto the back porch of Grandpa and Grandma's house. We saw Grandpa's pants hanging on the far wall, a bushel basket in one corner, and a pail with garden hand tools against another wall. We quietly stepped into the kitchen, as our mother and father trailed behind us with bags in their hands. Immediately I could smell the familiar aroma of pine scented Lysol. Grandma had stood by that product her entire life, and it appeared her senses were weakening, as the smell seemed stronger and stronger each time we visited.
             Passing through the narrow kitchen, we stepped into the spacious dining room, dominated by a large, wooden table. "Anyone home? You here Mom?" my mother called out. At that time, Grandma appeared in the door of her bedroom across from where we stood.
             "Goodness, gracious! Ya here already?" Grandma said, wiping her wrinkled hands on her faded apron. She began to make her way into the dining room, but before she could move, my mother had dashed across the room and was giving her a hug. Dad, Jessica, and I waited sheepishly across the room, knowing our obligatory hugs were next. When it was my turn, I felt the excessive flab that covered Grandma's sagging arms as well as her wet lips on my turned cheek. A whiff of her cheap perfume from the local...