A Home Away from Home When summer finally arrived and eighth grade ended, my thoughts turned to Grandma Rose and her small farm in South Carolina. I couldn't wait to sit with her on the porch and listen to her tell old family stories. Every summer, my parents, my younger brother and sisters, and I drove down to the farm from our apartment in Baltimore. Aunts, uncles, and cousins from other parts of the country joined us there. We all came to spend time together, share memories, and celebrate Grandma Rose's birthday. I was named Caroline Rose after my Grandma Rose because we shared the same birthday. Grandma Rose referred to us as the "birthday gals," and we had our photograph taken together every year. This year, I was turning 15 and Grandma Rose was turning 84. In addition to having the same name and birthday, we shared other traits as well. "Caroline Rose, you're just as strong-willed as your Grandma Rose," Mama used to say to me in exasperation. I loved Grandma Rose and I wanted to be like her, so I didn't mind. Daddy called the 12-hour drive to the farm "our pilgrimage," because it was a journey we made every summer to a place we held sacred. Our preparations felt just as sacred as our destination. The morning before the trip, my younger siblings and I pulled open closets and dresser drawers searching for shorts, bathing suits, and matching flip flops, which we packed in garbage bags. "Easier to fit a bunch of squishy garbage bags in the car than four bulky suitcases," Mama reasoned. In the late afternoon we ate a supper of odds and ends—whatever was in the fridge that needed to be eaten before we left for two weeks: cold ham and macaroni salad, peanut butter and jelly on toast, scrambled eggs and bacon. It was always a surprise to see what Mama came up with for our pre-trip dinner. Before an extra early bedtime, we fixed up the car so my brother and sisters and I would be comfortable during the long drive. We spread quilts on the seats and packed novels, coloring books, comic books, chewing gum, playing cards, and craft projects to keep ourselves busy. Then we went to bed with our clothes on. When our parents woke us up at three a. m., we shuffled into the car with our bed pillows and fell back asleep as Daddy began the long drive south. Twelve hours later, we pulled up in front of Grandma Rose's old white house and burst out of the car. Many relatives had already arrived. Aunts and uncles squeezed the children, but we cousins greeted each other shyly. It was my private custom to walk through the house and make sure everything was just as I remembered it—same pictures of birds and flowers hanging on the dining room wall, same green-and-yellow striped armchairs in the living room, same squeaky screened door leading out to the porch. In the kitchen, I'd stop to breathe in the house's familiar smells. Being back in this house made me feel like a long-lost book that had finally been returned to its owner and put back on the shelf where it belonged. For the cousins, the annual visit was a way of measuring our growth, both physical and emotional. How much taller were we this summer? Which barn shelf could we reach? What would we be allowed to do this summer, now that we were a year older? The group of older cousins, which included me, talked about who had boyfriends or girlfriends. Last year, I'd turned bright red when this topic came up. This summer I did too, but now I had my boyfriend, Cash, to talk about. I didn't realize then that the grown-ups were measuring themselves, too, but they used different standards: Who had new babies, grandbabies, or children starting high school or college? Who was ready to retire? How bad was the arthritis? After dinner that first night, Grandma Rose and I sat down together on the porch to look through our birthday book—the little book that held our birthday photos. There were plenty of empty pages, and I wanted Grandma Rose and me to fill them up with years and years of birthday pictures. It was another kind of measuring stick. Grandma Rose and I sat quietly for a while, just the two of us, just as I'd hoped we would. I was so grateful to be back on the farm—a place full of people I'd known and loved my whole life, with Grandma Rose at the center of our family universe. Read the central idea from "A Home Away from Home." The author and her family followed certain customs to prepare to travel to the farm. How does the author develop this central idea over the course of the memoir? Select the two correct answers. by describing the way Mama made dinner on the night before the trip by describing the way the narrator and her siblings got the car ready by describing things that she and her Grandma Rose had in common by describing the way the cousins felt when they saw each other again