Every summer we were welcomed "home" with a powdery hug from Nanny and an Irish jig with Grampie. Nanny let us read True Confessions and sneaked us candy from her hidden stash. Grampie let us drive his truck and drink coffee with six teaspoons of sugar. And they both let us stay up as long as we wanted. Now, our coffee is black, and we're all on diets. Driving is a chore, going to bed early a pleasure. The candy went stale and the little red truck was sold. When we weren't listening, the music stopped. "Home" only meant good-bye.