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My mother had a saying： “Guests are like fish. After three days they begin to stink.” Heres the thing about my mother， though. She never bought fresh fish. She bought frozen fish sticks， which she served us every Friday along with potato chips.
Heres the other thing about my mother. She never had guests. Only once in my childhood did someone from her or my fathers family stay overnight at our house. In my fathers case， it was because his family lived in England， and hed lost touch with them. In my mothers case， who knows. Maybe it was her cooking.
Im guessing the fish line must have been something her own mother said. I wouldnt know， because I only met my grandmother once. When I was five， we visited my mothers family for the first and last time. I cant remember any interaction with Grandma， or even if that was what we called her. I remember that Uncle Al had a farm with a hayloft to play in， and ripe strawberries that we could pick and eat until our bellies were bursting. I know Uncle George had a red-haired daughter named Cacky， whom I adored， and that Aunt Louise scolded my brother and me for twisting the chains on the swing set and spinning ourselves dizzy. And thats it： the sum total of my memories of my parents relatives. To this day， these people are strangers to me.
My husbands mother also has a saying： “We love you. When are we going to see you again？” Eds family—his parents and his sister and her husband and little girl—come to stay with us， or we with them， three or more times a year. When they visit， they all pile into our home， and when we go to Florida， we all pile into theirs. Neither place has a guest room， but both have sofas and floors， and thats fine.
The first time we went to visit， Eds parents insisted on giving us their bed. His dad slept on the lounge， and his mum took the love seat. We thought the love seat was a pullout sofa bed， but in the morning we found her with her legs hanging over the arm.
If anything could stink after three days， youd think that would， but as always， Jeanne couldnt bear to see us go.
Of course， I know what my mother meant. For the first three days of a visit， you are caught up in the joy and novelty of seeing one another. Youre busy catching up. It doesnt bother you that you have no time to yourself， that you have to wait to use the shower and have to drink coffee thats not made the way you like it. From day four onwards， theres a subtle shift. Youre running out of news and outings to pass the time and meals that everyone can happily eat. Patience begins to fray. By day six， something as trivial as a coffee table water ring can seem like grounds for a military tribunal. You begin to view your guests through the magnifying glasses of the put-upon host. A TV set turned four decibels higher than you like registers as “blaring”. Making a 13-cent long-distance call is perceived as “running up my phone bill！”
Eds family often stays six or seven days. By the last day， I admit Im ready to have my home back to normal， to get dressed in the room where my clothes live. Six rooms arent enough for five guests， but I blame the apartment for my feelings， not the guests. I dont want them to go after three days， I just want the building to get larger.
Ive come to love Eds relatives. I think of them as family in a way that I never thought of my own relatives. And I couldnt have these feelings about Ed s family if they didnt visit as often as they do， or if they stayed in a hotel and dropped by for meals. Family are people who live together—if only for a week at a time. Theyre people who drop towels on your bathroom floor， put your cups and glasses back in the wrong place and complain about your weather. You do it to them， they do it to you， and none of you would have it any other way.
母親常说：“客人就像鱼，过了三天就要臭。”不过，说到鱼，有件事倒与母亲有关，她从不买新鲜鱼，她只买硬梆梆的冷冻鱼。到了周五，她就将冻鱼和炸土豆片一起做给我们吃。
还有件与我母亲有关的事：她从没来访的客人。在我小的时候，只记得有一次不知是母亲还是父亲的亲戚在我们家住了一夜。就我父亲来说，那是因为他的老家在英格兰，他与他们早已失去联系。就我母亲来说，谁知道呢，也许是因为她的厨艺的缘故吧。
我猜想母亲关于鱼的妙论一定是得自她自己母亲的真传，但我无法确知这一点，因为我只见过外祖母一次。在我5岁的时候，第一次也是最后一次到母亲的娘家走亲戚。我已记不得与姥姥有什么接触，我甚至都不记得我们是否这样叫她。我记得艾尔舅舅有个农场，有个干草堆我们可以在里面玩，还有成熟的草莓可以让我们随便采摘，直到吃得我们的肚子都要撑破了。我知道乔治舅舅有个红头发的女儿名叫凯基，我很喜欢她。我也知道我和哥哥将秋千架上的链条像拧绳子一样扭来扭去，直到扭得我们自己天旋地转的，露易丝舅妈还为这个责骂了我们。关于父母亲戚的记忆我只有这些了。时至今日，他们对于我来说已经形同路人。
我的婆婆也有她的说法：“我们爱你们，什么时候我们再来看你们？”艾迪的一家——他的父母以及他的姐姐、姐夫和小外甥女——每年至少有三次来和我们住在一起，或者我们去他们家玩。他们来访时一起拥入我家，当我们去佛罗里达他们家时，也是一样。我们两家都没有客房，但我们都有沙发和地板可以睡，这样也很不错的啊！
我们第一次去他们家的时候，艾迪的父母坚持要将他们的床让给我们。他父亲睡在长沙发上，他母亲睡在双人沙发中。我们原以为双人沙发是可以拉出来的沙发床，到第二天早上才发现她将腿搁在扶手上睡着。
如果有什么三天后就发臭的话，那么你一定可以想象得到，这样下去是必然的结果。但是尽管如此，婆婆安妮总是舍不得让我们走。
当然，母亲的意思我明白。走亲戚的头三天，大家都沉浸在久别重逢的喜悦和新奇感里，你忙于招待客人。虽然你没有自己的时间，你想淋浴却得等待，你喝的咖啡没有照你的方法来煮，但你不会为此种种而烦心。但是从第四天起，事情就开始有了微妙的变化。该说的新鲜事都说完了，到外面消磨时间的好去处都去过了，大家爱吃的东西也翻不出新花样来了，你也就越来越没有耐心了。
到了第六天，即使如咖啡桌上的水杯印这样微不足道的小事都可以看得像军事法庭上的证据一样严重。你开始以一种吃了亏的主人的心情戴上放大镜来看你的客人。电视机的声音比你平时认为合适的程度高了4分贝会被认为“耳朵都被震聋了”。一个只值13美分的长途电话会被你看成“我的电话费要直线上升了”。
艾迪的家人常常在我们家一住就是六七天，到了最后一天，我承认，我也希望我的家能尽快恢复正常生活，可以在放衣服的房间里换衣服。六个房间的家接待五个客人是不太够，但是我把这种不方便的感觉归咎于房子的问题，而不是我的客人。我并不想他们住三天就走，我只是希望我的房子能更大些。
我渐渐喜欢上了艾迪的亲戚，我把他们看作是一家人，而对于我自己这方面的亲戚却从未有过这种感觉。但是如果不是艾迪的家人经常来看我们，或者他们虽然来了却住到旅馆里，只是到我们这里来吃饭而已，那么我可能也不会有这种感觉。大家住在一起才能称其为一家人，即使每次只相聚一周。他们是可以将毛巾在你浴室的地上随便扔的人，他们是可以将杯盘乱放的人，他们是可以向你抱怨你这儿气候的人。你在他们处可以随意，他们在你处也可随意，这就是一家人相处的方式，双方都不会有别的方式。
Heres the other thing about my mother. She never had guests. Only once in my childhood did someone from her or my fathers family stay overnight at our house. In my fathers case， it was because his family lived in England， and hed lost touch with them. In my mothers case， who knows. Maybe it was her cooking.
Im guessing the fish line must have been something her own mother said. I wouldnt know， because I only met my grandmother once. When I was five， we visited my mothers family for the first and last time. I cant remember any interaction with Grandma， or even if that was what we called her. I remember that Uncle Al had a farm with a hayloft to play in， and ripe strawberries that we could pick and eat until our bellies were bursting. I know Uncle George had a red-haired daughter named Cacky， whom I adored， and that Aunt Louise scolded my brother and me for twisting the chains on the swing set and spinning ourselves dizzy. And thats it： the sum total of my memories of my parents relatives. To this day， these people are strangers to me.
My husbands mother also has a saying： “We love you. When are we going to see you again？” Eds family—his parents and his sister and her husband and little girl—come to stay with us， or we with them， three or more times a year. When they visit， they all pile into our home， and when we go to Florida， we all pile into theirs. Neither place has a guest room， but both have sofas and floors， and thats fine.
The first time we went to visit， Eds parents insisted on giving us their bed. His dad slept on the lounge， and his mum took the love seat. We thought the love seat was a pullout sofa bed， but in the morning we found her with her legs hanging over the arm.
If anything could stink after three days， youd think that would， but as always， Jeanne couldnt bear to see us go.
Of course， I know what my mother meant. For the first three days of a visit， you are caught up in the joy and novelty of seeing one another. Youre busy catching up. It doesnt bother you that you have no time to yourself， that you have to wait to use the shower and have to drink coffee thats not made the way you like it. From day four onwards， theres a subtle shift. Youre running out of news and outings to pass the time and meals that everyone can happily eat. Patience begins to fray. By day six， something as trivial as a coffee table water ring can seem like grounds for a military tribunal. You begin to view your guests through the magnifying glasses of the put-upon host. A TV set turned four decibels higher than you like registers as “blaring”. Making a 13-cent long-distance call is perceived as “running up my phone bill！”
Eds family often stays six or seven days. By the last day， I admit Im ready to have my home back to normal， to get dressed in the room where my clothes live. Six rooms arent enough for five guests， but I blame the apartment for my feelings， not the guests. I dont want them to go after three days， I just want the building to get larger.
Ive come to love Eds relatives. I think of them as family in a way that I never thought of my own relatives. And I couldnt have these feelings about Ed s family if they didnt visit as often as they do， or if they stayed in a hotel and dropped by for meals. Family are people who live together—if only for a week at a time. Theyre people who drop towels on your bathroom floor， put your cups and glasses back in the wrong place and complain about your weather. You do it to them， they do it to you， and none of you would have it any other way.
母親常说：“客人就像鱼，过了三天就要臭。”不过，说到鱼，有件事倒与母亲有关，她从不买新鲜鱼，她只买硬梆梆的冷冻鱼。到了周五，她就将冻鱼和炸土豆片一起做给我们吃。
还有件与我母亲有关的事：她从没来访的客人。在我小的时候，只记得有一次不知是母亲还是父亲的亲戚在我们家住了一夜。就我父亲来说，那是因为他的老家在英格兰，他与他们早已失去联系。就我母亲来说，谁知道呢，也许是因为她的厨艺的缘故吧。
我猜想母亲关于鱼的妙论一定是得自她自己母亲的真传，但我无法确知这一点，因为我只见过外祖母一次。在我5岁的时候，第一次也是最后一次到母亲的娘家走亲戚。我已记不得与姥姥有什么接触，我甚至都不记得我们是否这样叫她。我记得艾尔舅舅有个农场，有个干草堆我们可以在里面玩，还有成熟的草莓可以让我们随便采摘，直到吃得我们的肚子都要撑破了。我知道乔治舅舅有个红头发的女儿名叫凯基，我很喜欢她。我也知道我和哥哥将秋千架上的链条像拧绳子一样扭来扭去，直到扭得我们自己天旋地转的，露易丝舅妈还为这个责骂了我们。关于父母亲戚的记忆我只有这些了。时至今日，他们对于我来说已经形同路人。
我的婆婆也有她的说法：“我们爱你们，什么时候我们再来看你们？”艾迪的一家——他的父母以及他的姐姐、姐夫和小外甥女——每年至少有三次来和我们住在一起，或者我们去他们家玩。他们来访时一起拥入我家，当我们去佛罗里达他们家时，也是一样。我们两家都没有客房，但我们都有沙发和地板可以睡，这样也很不错的啊！
我们第一次去他们家的时候，艾迪的父母坚持要将他们的床让给我们。他父亲睡在长沙发上，他母亲睡在双人沙发中。我们原以为双人沙发是可以拉出来的沙发床，到第二天早上才发现她将腿搁在扶手上睡着。
如果有什么三天后就发臭的话，那么你一定可以想象得到，这样下去是必然的结果。但是尽管如此，婆婆安妮总是舍不得让我们走。
当然，母亲的意思我明白。走亲戚的头三天，大家都沉浸在久别重逢的喜悦和新奇感里，你忙于招待客人。虽然你没有自己的时间，你想淋浴却得等待，你喝的咖啡没有照你的方法来煮，但你不会为此种种而烦心。但是从第四天起，事情就开始有了微妙的变化。该说的新鲜事都说完了，到外面消磨时间的好去处都去过了，大家爱吃的东西也翻不出新花样来了，你也就越来越没有耐心了。
到了第六天，即使如咖啡桌上的水杯印这样微不足道的小事都可以看得像军事法庭上的证据一样严重。你开始以一种吃了亏的主人的心情戴上放大镜来看你的客人。电视机的声音比你平时认为合适的程度高了4分贝会被认为“耳朵都被震聋了”。一个只值13美分的长途电话会被你看成“我的电话费要直线上升了”。
艾迪的家人常常在我们家一住就是六七天，到了最后一天，我承认，我也希望我的家能尽快恢复正常生活，可以在放衣服的房间里换衣服。六个房间的家接待五个客人是不太够，但是我把这种不方便的感觉归咎于房子的问题，而不是我的客人。我并不想他们住三天就走，我只是希望我的房子能更大些。
我渐渐喜欢上了艾迪的亲戚，我把他们看作是一家人，而对于我自己这方面的亲戚却从未有过这种感觉。但是如果不是艾迪的家人经常来看我们，或者他们虽然来了却住到旅馆里，只是到我们这里来吃饭而已，那么我可能也不会有这种感觉。大家住在一起才能称其为一家人，即使每次只相聚一周。他们是可以将毛巾在你浴室的地上随便扔的人，他们是可以将杯盘乱放的人，他们是可以向你抱怨你这儿气候的人。你在他们处可以随意，他们在你处也可随意，这就是一家人相处的方式，双方都不会有别的方式。