Five days, four nights, near-100-percent humidity, most of the time. Afro-frizz hair, fudgy brownies with red-and-green dark chocolate m&ms or all blue ones, depending on the occasion. The good spot on the couch; “time to watch football” is code for “time to take a nap.” Mexican wedding rings. At 3:56 of the 4th quarter, 11:58 p.m. on Monday night, Dad makes the Proclamation: “the Dolphins will lose this game,” because they kicked a field goal on 4th down to tie it rather than try for a touchdown. He says this phrase with the same tone of final, sad disappointment he would use to great effect with me as a child. Peanut Butter chocolate chunk cookies. Time to go get the turkey, please don’t leave it in the trunk like you did four-five-six years ago, who cares when it was, it’s still funny. Ginger snaps. Will you please put all your crap away, company is coming over. Chocolate chocolate chip cookies. The Uncle, a self-proclaimed expert on nearly everything, is still floored by a 9-minute iMovie. Remember when and I think I do and isn’t it just so nice to be together. A turkey sandwich for the plane ride home.