Saying goodbye to the snack wagon
By Robin DearingLast Sunday, we waved our goodbyes and my parents rolled on out of the Grand Valley. They had been here for a nice three-week visit. We all really enjoyed having my parents here. They would pick Margaret up from school and sit in the front yard while she jumped rope, ran around and generally acted like the little kid that she is. My mom and Bill cooked dinner most nights. My dad worked on small and big projects and generally did some much-needed cleaning around our yard. My parents got to see me play with my band for the first time. They stayed in their RV which was parked in our driveway. They had their own bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and even satellite TV — which Margaret figured out had way better channels than our rinky-dink basic cable. It was a busy three weeks but I really liked having my parents around. They were helpful and supportive as we've had to alter our lives since Bill was diagnosed with diabetes and deal with some other family drama that has permeated our lives. We miss them now that they are safely back home — and it's not just because they always had cookies and ice cream and assorted other goodies that are now banned from the house of Diabilly. I've whined before about how I wish my family were closer and that feeling has never been more profound than it is right now.