As a kid， I spent my summers with my grandparents on their ranch in Texas. I helped fix windmills， vaccinate cattle， and do other chores. We also watched soap operas every afternoon， especially "Days of our Lives." My grandparents belonged to a Caravan Club， a group of Airstream trailer owners who travel together around the U.S. and Canada. And every few summers， we'd join the caravan. We'd hitch up the Airstream trailer to my grandfather's car， and off we'd go， in a line with 300 other Airstream adventurers. I loved and worshipped my grandparents and I really looked forward to these trips. On one particular trip， I was about 10 years old. I was rolling around in the big bench seat in the back of the car. My grandfather was driving. And my grandmother had the passenger seat. She smoked throughout these trips， and I hated the smell.
Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.
