We had family meetings, and listened to records, where I learned to love Sam Cooke, "Red, Red Wine," and "I danced with a dolly with a hole in her stockin' and her knees kept a'knockin' and her toes kept a'rockin...we danced by the light of the moon." We danced in the living room.
We had talks. Happy, sad, mad, and glad, we talked. (Except that time that Dad wouldn't get through the "Why Did Grandpa Have to Die?" book without crying. So I hid it. Sometimes, a girl's gotta take matters into her own pudgy hands.)
We had bedtime. After prayers and goodnights, we would sometimes sneak little lights on and blankets over our heads so that we could read until our eyes felt sandy. I can also remember holding the blanket over my head like a babushka so that no one would remember that I had braids in my hair and ask me to take them out for more comfortable sleep. I just thought they were so beautiful.