Trish needs to see her family, especially her parents, every two or three months.

I don’t.

I don’t even need to see my family that often. For most of them every couple of decades is just fine.

My in-laws live a 10-hour drive away in Kentucky, and I dread the trip. We seldom fly.

But one of my friends, can’t remember who or I’d buy him a load of beers, said that his in-laws were coming for a visit just as he was leaving town.

Bingbingbingbing!

I couldn’t tell Trish fast enough. Hey, why don’t your parents come visit while I go to Spokane?!

She couldn’t relay the message fast enough. And what a sweet deal she got; one of our neighbors is a pilot and hooked the in-laws up with buddy passes, then this same neighbor offered her parents’ beach house for the weekend.

My in-laws are salt-of-the-earth people. Good folks if there ever were any. But my mother-in-law reminds me of Hazel the maid, with a high squeaky voice that seldom quits. And I have a general aversion to house guests that stay more than a night or two. Maybe I have an aversion to family. I’m sure I like people, generally.  It’s just, you know, I like my space.

So, this afternoon Trish will pick up her parents — Grandma and Papa — from the airport and they’ll begin a full-fledged doting session. Ella is the only grandchild under age 15, but there’s a great-grandson who lives near them who is, I don’t know, a year, something like that. So they do have a grandchild outlet. But Ella will be showered, nonetheless. And she loves her grandma, because she’s as silly as any child.

Tomorrow morning, I catch a plane going west.

I’ll arrive Monday night, they’ll leave Tuesday morning.

It almost seems too good to be true.

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