My mother was one of seven children, so when I was young, our home was the central gathering place for aunts, uncles and cousins.

At any given moment, a relative would show up at the door looking for support, advice or just camaraderie. Thanks to my mom, there was always a pot on the stove or a slow cooker filled with food for the guests so that they would never leave hungry. It was not uncommon for visitors to feast on homemade meatballs or Italian wedding soup.

My dad was an avid hunter, so the first day of deer hunting season meant a large and hearty breakfast for my dad and his friends, while I was busy in my room praying that none of them would come back with a deer. And, if they didn't, it was certainly my fault.

As I grew older, the relatives became a nuisance to me. Just when we were sitting down to dinner or making popcorn in anticipation of watching a movie or TV show, relatives came knocking. And of course an extra chair was added to the table, and more popcorn was popped so they could join us in front of the television.

There were also numerous cookouts, birthday parties and Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners to which all the aunts brought their special desserts. My mom had three sisters, and their specialties were blueberry muffins, cheesecake and cherry squares.

In addition, my grandmother hosted a spaghetti dinner with homemade meatballs and sauce every Sunday at her home to which many of the aunts, uncles and cousins attended. She actually made the spaghetti, which we called "homemades," by hand. Mixing eggs, flour and other ingredients, she made the pasta dough and then ran it through the pasta machine to make long, thin strands of spaghetti, kind of like linguine. She then hung the spaghetti to dry in anticipation of the Sunday gathering.

At all of these events, topics that should be avoided, such as religion and politics, became the focus. And while of course I love my aunts and uncles and numerous cousins, some of them were more challenging than others. One of my aunts always made off-handed "compliments." For example, she would look at a person's outfit and remark, "Well, it must be comfortable." Or, "You know, they make these great at-home products for gray hair."

Then there was the uncle who for some odd reason was a Washington Redskins fan (now Commanders) among a sea of Eagles fans. My cousin, who claimed to be a musician, could basically play only one song on his acoustic guitar, "Sweet Home Alabama."

Now, years later, I long for those days of regular family get-togethers. With the passing of time, what I once considered a nuisance is actually something that I now treasure. What felt bothersome at the time is now what I miss the most.

Thankfully, we have occasional "cousins' lunches," and the remaining family members gathered last year for my uncle's 90th birthday. Everyone had a great time catching up and reminiscing and eating "homemades," made by one of my cousins. Since my aunts passed down their recipes, we also enjoyed blueberry muffins, cheesecake and cherry squares for dessert.

And I didn't mind when my aunt said that my outfit looked comfortable and that I seemed to have more gray hair than the last time she saw me. Plus, we were all very happy when my cousin brought out his guitar and sang "Sweet Home Alabama." And the evening ended perfectly when the Eagles beat the football team from Washington.