I was a man, but a radioactive goldfish bit me. THen I was put in a fishbowl.

This is also known as a narrative.

Fun! I'll write about going to my grandparent's house in NY, which we do nearly every summer.

I stare out the car window, watching the long, straight, boring highway. We've been in the car for nearly six hours, with at least one more to go.

Our minivan is packed full of people and bags,all squished together into the seven seats.

"Are we there yet?" My six-year-old brother moans from his boosterseat. My dad twists around in the passenger seat, his friendly smile reassuring him. "It's going to be another hour or so. Why don't you get out a book or something?" My brother reaches down into his backpack and pulls out an insect encyclopedia. Ick.

My other little brother is sleeping, his head slumped over off the edge of the carseat. There are seven of us all total: My mom, my dad, a 19 year-old sister, a 17 year-old brother, me, and my two little brothers. How we managed to pack ourselves, our food, and our luggage into that one Honda minivan is beyond me.

The car lurches forward as we turn onto the exit, into New York. I love all the scenery, especially when we come into the towns and there are little shops- not chain stores, not tourist shops, but nice, quality shops with good stuff. But we won't see that for a while- technically, we're on the highway. I pull out my journal and a ballpoint pen to pass the time away doodling.

"Look! Cows!" My brother says exitedly, putting down his insect book. We are now in Syracuse, driving slowly down a dirt road with fields on either side. The cows are funny, with their black-and-white patterns. I turn my attention away from my journal and stare out the window at the beautiful fields.

Then something catches my nose. "Eeew! What's that?" I scrunch up my face. "Cow manure," My sister nods toward the fields knowingly. "They spread it on the crops." "You mean- you mean- they actually put that stuff on the food? Ew! Gross!" I freak out. "Calm down, will you. It's just natural." My older brother takes his earbuds out. I glare at him and cross my arms stubbornly. That stuff is gross.

"Here we are!" My mom turns the car onto a long paved driveway. My grandparents have a crazy amount of land, half of which is woods. I stuff my journal back into my car bag and put my hand on my seatbelt buckle, ready to jump out and run around the moment the car stops. The blue minivan pulls up in front of their garage, and my mom turns it off with a flick of her keys. 

My grandmother runs out the door to greet us as we groggily stumble out of the car, weary from seven hour's worth of driving. I, however, jump out to stretch my legs, doing cartwheels and handstands on the clean grass. "Come help with the bags, (my name)." My dad says, handing me a heavy red monstrosity of a suitcase. I stagger under the weight, picking up my bag also. 

Their house is beautiful. In the front, there's a long, curving driveway and a ton of grass. A flower-lined walkway leads up to the front door of their little house, then continues to their backyard. A large porch stands there, surrounded by nearly a full square mile of grass and more of woods.

We all walk into the house, tired from our journey but happy to be here. This house has so many memories for me. I can remember clearly being carried in the door to their house when I was four. The house has a smell that I can't describe, but it makes me feel so welcome and happy when I step into the house.

My grandfather comes shuffling toward us, his arms open wide for a hug. I give him one.

He's not my actual grandfather, really, because my dad's father died about the time when my dad was six. But I've known him as my grandfather all my life, so it doesn't really make a difference. But now, I'm tired and hungry, so I need to rest.

"Tag! You're it!" My six year-old brother yells, touching me on the leg. I sprint toward him, tagging him back. Then I sramble up into the tree. My grandparents have this one tree in the middle of their yard, behind their house. It's not very big, but It's great for climbing. It's about as tall as their one-story house, and the biggest branch is about as wide as my dad's leg. This is awesome. We've been here for three days, which included: A firepit until 11:00, accompanied by stargazing, since they live in the country without big city lights, a trip to town to go to the Farmer's Market, (which, by the way, was not just food. There were lots of handmade things, like jewelry and clothes, and pottery.) and full day of playing with my grandfather's toy remote cars on their driveway, supplied with chocolate chip cookies. My grandma makes the best cookies I've ever tasted, and sends them on holidays and birthdays. She also makes quilts, several of which we have.

I climb higher into the branches of the small tree, pursued by my brother. For a moment, I close my eyes, taking in the bright sunshine on my face. I always love coming here, so I can get away from the noise, bustle, and stress of the city. Out in the country, there's always time for everything.