One of the things I love, and remember fondly about all the times my mom’s parents came to visit us, is the absolute abandon that occurs when someone you love comes home (or to visit, as in this case). We used to open the front door and run down the walk, regardless of closing said door, or what shoes we were or weren’t wearing, to see them. On the flip side, when we would drive up their black, summer-sticky driveway in Minneapolis every summer and they would hurry out, leaving doors open, to greet and hug and all that. Just the general outpouring of love. Love so insistent it doesn’t care whether or not you were born in a barn, or if you’re letting all the air conditioning out, or the bugs in, or whatever. Love so strong you don’t need to remember that stuff, for a few minutes, anyway.
I love that.