Well, we made it. Charlie stayed home; we didn't want to worry about him on the road, and although I felt bad that he wasn't with us this year, it seemed like the best alternative, in the end.

Kathy and Richard also stayed home, ostensibly scared about the weather, which was much worse in Lansing, by all accounts. (I say, "Wimps." I really missed them, particularly when it came to conversation; details below.)

So Emma and Emil and I took off at about 10:30 yesterday morning. The roads were somewhat sloppy in Ann Arbor, but not bad - and fifteen minutes down the road everything was dry. We didn't even hit snow in Cleveland. We got to Youngstown at about 3:00. We sat around at The House for a while, eating frozen pizza (well, it was cooked before we ate it), and chatting with The Uncles and Aunt Betty. Then we went back to Emil's father's house. At about 6:00 Emil, Emma, and I went cruising for some supper; everyone else considers whatever they eat at 3:00 to be The Evening Meal, but we don't. We ended up at Lone Star Steakhouse, with a very jocular server and the place practically to ourselves. It was kinda fun, given that [a] I was actually with my family and not alone, and [b] I knew we were going to have the more traditional gathering today.

After dinner we headed back to Emil's father's house, where we watched abominable crime dramatization shows in the evening (well, I tuned out by listening to my nano and knitting my newest project - a wonderful teal cardigan for me) until 9:00 or so, then toddled off to bed. 9:00 is awfully early to go to bed under most circumstances, but by then it felt like it had been an awfully long day.

Today we went back to The House, where I put the turkey in the oven at about 10:00, and we waited until it was done . . . Emil and Emma ran out to the store for knitting needles for me, as one of mine - an ancient plastic one I'd gotten from my mother-in-law twenty years ago, which means it was probably at least 30 years old - had mysteriously broken on the way to The House. While they were out, Uncle Joe fixed the needle . . . he drilled holes in each broken side and inserted a little metal rod, or something. (I may never knit with it again, but I'm sure going to save it . . . )

It was pretty tough sledding in the conversation department. I remember some friends once coming to visit Emil and me after they'd seen one of their aging parents, and they said something on the order of, "My god, if we're like that when we're 80, take us out and shoot us." I laughed at the time, but I can see what they meant, in a way. The pace of life at The House is infinitesimal; I truly do think that everyone wakes up and then waits for dinner so they can go to bed and then get up and do it again . . . I suppose The Uncles and Aunt Betty are severely off their game; usually at this time of year they're in Florida, where they have friends and a regular routine, so possibly when they're on their own turf and their own schedule, they're livelier. Happier. And of course, Emil's father has his own reasons to be reticent . . .

I had the distinct sense that it was important for us to go down and have Thanksgiving there just to stir the pot a bit - to give everyone something to look forward to and to think about. In that sense it was a difficult holiday, because our mission really was to go down to cheer up the depressed, which takes enormous amounts of energy and doesn't always give back in the same proportion. I think we did manage to cheer them up a bit, though. Everyone seemed to like the food - they sure ate a lot (for them). Aunt Betty got a kick out of having someone else cook for her (although she cleaned up everything the instant after I finished using it; luckily my mother had been the same way, so I didn't worry too much about it). It was nice to see Emil's father eat so well. He says he doesn't eat much, but I've noticed that if good, freshly-prepared food is put in front of him, he manages to pack it in.

He seems to me like he's getting tired. He says he's not in any pain - he says his half a Vicodin every six hours is working for him - and it sure appears to be working; he walks with a cane and favors his bad hip, but he moves really well, considering he's walking with a cane. (Not surprising, though; he has always been very graceful and very coordinated.) But he spends a lot of time sitting in his chair, staring or dozing. And his voice sounds tired, even when he's animated and upbeat. None of this is surprising . . . but it really does make me want to go stay with him so he could sit in his chair all day long if he wanted . . . I'm not sure why I have that impulse; Kevin says I'm in danger of becoming the "cancer sitter" and maybe he's right. But actually, there's no danger here; he might want that kind of attention from his children, but he doesn't seem to want it from anyone else.

Anyhow, we're back. We left shortly after dinner, drove home on dry roads (despite the dire weather forecasts - but then, I get my weather from Weather Underground, which is never unnecessarily dire), and rolled in at about 8:00.

Now I can hardly keep my eyes open, so I'm about to call it a day . . . I think I'd say that this was a dutiful Thanksgiving, and I'm glad we made the trek, although it's not clear to me what the impact was on anyone else. I hope that in future years we remember this one fondly . . .