Growing up when we would visit my grandma in Stickney, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago, the adults, my grandma, parents, aunt and uncle, would always congregate in the kitchen around the table. Kolacky or some other yummy dessert and coffee would be served. The adults would talk about life, the kids, and whatever else adults talked about. The kids, my sister, brother, cousin and I, would run down to the basement and play. The basement was a fun place where we could play ball or ride a bike or investigate what grandma had laying around.

Eventually I grew up and moved back to Chicago. When I was 26 years old I found myself sitting at that same table on a Saturday afternoon with my grandma, my aunt and uncle, eating lunch my grandma had cooked. She was a wonderful cook. I think my favorite meal was her breaded pork chop and mashed potatoes. After lunch she served dessert and coffee. It was on one of these afternoons over coffee I looked around and realized I was a grown-up. I was an adult, sitting at this table, discussing life, work and love.