Going Home (Again)

The Missus Herself and I returned on Friday from our trip north to celebrate Thanksgiving at my brother's house. The house I grew up in, though it has been modified rather a lot since I lived there, 'lo those many years ago.

For The Olde Vermonter is a carpenter by trade, though that is rather too simple a term to describe his many skills. Sure, he knows to "measure twice, cut once," he can swing a hammer with the best of them and he's a handy fellow to have around the house. He's also a roofer, a landscaper, a cabinet maker, a painter (interior and exterior, think Sherwin-Williams, not Picasso), and general jack-of-all-trades and master of quite a few.

So in the years since I left the ancestral home he's added a mother-in-law suite, his mother-in-law having passed some time ago, that area of the house is now a den/sitting room/TV room. He's added a deck out back, with a roof and panels around the lower part to give the whole a rather porch-like feel, a shed or two (might be one big one with an alcove sort of add-on, I didn't get a closer look as the weather was rather nippy on Thanksgiving Day), an outdoor fire pit, and he's enclosed the entire backyard as a play area for their three dogs, Cooper, Isaac, and Daisy.

Now Mrs Olde Vermonter has decorated extensively throughout the manse, giving it an almost museum cum Yankee Magazine photo-shoot feel. All sorts of old photos, small treasures, and various objets d'art give their home a comfy, lived in look. (The museum part is that, like a museum, there is much that is old and just plain pretty cool looking.) I love visiting the old homestead to see what my brother and his bride have done with the place.

It was rather a whirlwind trip, we left Wednesday morning...

No, the feline staff were not amused.

Anyhoo.

We left Wednesday morning on a beautiful late November day, moderate temperatures, no wind, and a clear blue sky and arrived at my mother's place in the early afternoon. Spent a while chatting then went out to eat at a local fine dining establishment, then to the Elks Club for a nightcap, then back to Mom's for more conversation then an early bedtime. (Mom firmly believes in the adage "early to bed, early to rise" etc., etc. Whereas I'm more of a "carouse all night and my word, is the sun coming up already" sort of fellow.)

The Musician, that is, my youngest brother who lives in the Boston area, came up Thanksgiving morning and we were due at the ancestral home around 1300 local. Food was scheduled to be consumed from 1400 to 1530 and football was also to be watched in that time frame and afterwards. So I broke my NFL boycott on Thursday. Yes, I've been doing that. Actually it goes well with my "I hate commercials so I'm not watching television" boycott. Really it's just an anti-commercial thing but it goes hand-in-hand with my I detest Roger Goodell protest movement.

And you all thought I was a simple man.

Anyhoo (redux).

There was The Missus Herself, Your Humble Scribe, The Olde Vermonter, Mrs Olde Vermonter, The Young Vermonter, Madame Mère, The Musician, City Girl and her beau whom I shall dub "The Lumberjack" as he rather looks like one and is from a place so far north in Maine that, as he puts it, there are only two towns between where he grew up and Canada. The French speaking part. You know, Quebec.

Also in attendance were the three canines of my brother and somewhere upstairs two felines hid and plotted their hideous vengeance on those who would invade their territory, make merry, and generally sully the atmosphere of the feline domain.

Yeah, the dogs don't really go along with that whole "feline domain" thing.

We ate, we drank, we laughed, my niece groused that her mother had purchased a a 20-pound pan for a 30-pound bird, from which drippings emanated and splattered and caused alarming amounts of turkey "fog" to fill the kitchen and the adjoining dining room. Which said "fog" led to windows and doors being thrown open to air out the house, said air being around freezing in temperature. Which led to my niece proclaiming the whole affair to be "ten pounds of monkey shite in a five pound bag." No, she didn't use the word "shite." Not exactly. The phrase she claims was one she learned from The Lumberjack, who, of course, proclaimed his innocence.

I shouted out that my niece had "ruined Thanksgiving" and she, demonstrating that she is truly of my tribe, yelled back "GOOD!"

Much hilarity ensued.

All in all, it was a wonderful time, returning to Little Rhody early Friday afternoon it all felt rather dreamlike. Like I said, a whirlwind tour. Oh wait, I forgot, we saw this on the way north -

Yup, snow.

Thanksgiving Day started with snow, went to sleet, then to drizzle. The drive back south saw low cloud and lots and lots of drizzle. Rather unappealing and a pure joy to drive in. Not.

But the holiday was fun. We plan on going back for Christmas. Which is less than a month away.

Can you believe it?

Hope you all had a good Thanksgiving. And no, the Sarge does not partake of Black Friday, nor does The Missus Herself. The progeny though have been known to dive right into the melee, er, shopping. Well, whatever floats your boat.

Bring on the Christmas decorations and the carols. I think I'm ready...