Recently, we traveled to New York to be a part of our granddaughter's birthday celebration which was in a few days.
The plane was half full and except for two-year old twin boys across the aisle, fairly quiet! The boys (and their parents) were going to visit grandma and grandpa and, as I watched their activity level, I hoped grandma and grandpa had a big yard and lots of energy.
I already knew what to expect from our (almost) 7 year-old granddaughter.
She would grab our hands and lead us to her bedroom, close the door firmly and place us on her bed.
Then she would show us all her newest acquisitions.
Many of these would have some connection to the movie "Frozen", her most recent obsession.
We'd ooh and aah at all the right moments and she and I would apply the age-appropriate makeup, nail polish and skin glitter that would peel off within 15 minutes.
She'd sing a few of the songs from "Frozen" for us and then we'd move into the living room to play the game "Sorry".
What fun! My husband keeps saying that if we had known grandchildren were this much fun, we would have had them first! But we both know that they are this much fun because we've already been through it all raising three children.
I understand now why it's better to live in "villages", to have extended family around you to share the bad times and good times; to take some of the burden off of over-burdened parents and to share some of the wisdom acquired over the years.
I know, I know! Sometimes this "wisdom" is less than wise and sometimes it only adds more stress to young parents trying to do everything at once.
But on the whole, I think the saying' "it takes a village to raise a child" is right on.
Neither of our parents lived near-bye when we were raising our kids.
That was partly because we were following jobs and opportunities and partly because we chose to live a distance from parents who, we were afraid, might just add more stress to our lives.
We were probably right about the latter but I do wonder now that I'm a grandparent, if we didn't also deprive ourselves and our children of really knowing their "village".
My "village" consisted of three great-uncles, great-aunts, my grandma and assorted cousins- some who lived in town and some who visited in the summer.
My uncles and grandmother had traveled from Lithuania to Virginia, Minnesota when they were in their twenties, looking for more opportunities and trying to escape pogroms aimed at the Jewish community in their home country.
They literally left behind their village and then recreated it in a small town in Northern Minnesota.
I remember holidays at Aunt Bess and Uncle Carl's house, poker games every Saturday night at rotating homes and fishing trips in wooden rowboats that held way too many people.
I remember my grandma who gave me unconditional love and died years before she should have.
My most vivid memory of my grandma is visiting her on Friday afternoons and walking across newspapers laid out on her wet kitchen floor, my nose filled with the wonderful aroma of chicken soup simmering on the stove.
The newly washed floor and good smells of dinner were in preparation for Shabbos which arrived at sundown.
When grandma died, we moved into her house above the store and the family poker games were often at our house.
Both men and women played and the mix created evenings filled with loud conversation, good food and lots of tension.
More often than not, the game ended in a loud argument and threats of quitting the game.
This usually lasted until the end of the next week when it was time to get-together for the next poker night.
My brother and I would hide under the table or try to disappear in a quiet corner so we wouldn't be sent to bed and miss all the excitement.
In the summer, my family often congregated at Uncle Carl and Aunt Bess' cottage on a small lake that offered good walleye fishing.
This is where I learned to swim and to know the older cousins and their families who came back to visit from places like Minneapolis and Detroit where they had settled after leaving home.
We were scattering, just like every second generation American family.
I always knew I wouldn't settle in Virginia.
As much as I loved it, the town had less and less to offer as the iron ore that had financed the original boom was mined out.
I believe my parents realized this also and knew that once they sent my brother and me to college, we would never live there again.
And so my husband and I have created our own villages every place we lived; first in Southern California, then Upstate New York and finally, Florida.
Our extended families visited us and we visited them, trying to keep the link alive.
But now our children are doing the same thing; creating their own villages where they live.
We all work hard to keep the family link alive with frequent visits, phone calls and e-mail and I'm very thankful for airplanes, telephones and Skype! They all help to keep our villages intact when we don't live down the street.
After we landed in New York, I rushed to baggage claim, hoping to see the reunion of the twins and their parents with the grandparents.
And there they were, scooping the suddenly shy boys into their arms for many hugs and kisses.
After our suitcases arrived, we too, were on our way in a taxi to spend time with our daughter, son-in-law and almost seven-year old granddaughter.
And for a few days, part of our village was together and we made new memories for our granddaughter to take into her future.