Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
Robert Frost
When I was younger and home for the summer, my grandma would occasionally come to the house to babysit my sister and I. Those days were always filled with baseball in the yard (as much as she could play while running basepaths that were only four feet long), lunch trips to McDonald’s, and late afternoon bike rides.
She had only one requirement during the day: she watched her afternoon soap operas. She watched them with the commitment of nun with a vow of Monastic silence; the bunny ears lovingly adjusted by her grandson who was actually flexible enough to balance on the precariously narrow ledge of the table upon which the television rested.