Unfortunately, both of my maternal grandparents passed on a few years ago.
They were such a pair:
-My grandmother used to tell me stories about Cuba while she cooked. To this day, the smell of black beans cooking will make me remember those lazy days where I would hang around their house, listening to her.
-My grandfather was a tough old bastard, worked until his late 80's (as a farmer in Cuba, and as a car mechanic when he escaped to the U.S.). My grandfather had a deep respect for cars and frequently spent his days post-retirement wandering our neighborhood trying to fix other people's cars. He used to spend some weekends teaching these young punks nearby how to tune their rides. It was weird image: a bunch of street thugs, huddled around a little old man, wincing every time he raised his voice, but listening intently to his every word.