(Note: picture taken in Cayce & Matt's kitchen of recently awakened children - observe Abby's bed-head and Max's dazed look - and Nimbus, one of the house dogs. Snapped at approximately 10:48.)
Thanksgiving vacations should all be as idyllic and as chill as this one.
I took Wednesday off from work, which turned out to be a very good move. We packed and left, making it out by noonish, and ate a late lunch with my mom and grandmother in Chattanooga. Aside from an unfortunate incident with a hidden pepper in a dish of obscene pico de gallo, all was well, if a bit rushed. That night we hit the spot - the spot in this case being the home of Cayce and Matt on the EL in the ATL.
Over the next three days and nights, we hung out, played, read, ate, joked, drove, shopped, and yelled a lot at dogs and small children. Kids inhabit, and thus, dominate, most of my waking hours, as any parent will tell you. To live with Matt and Cayce is indeed to live among the dogs. More than once on this trip I thought to myself, "We should get away somewhere with them where there is an open bar and dogs and kids are not allowed." However, the simple fact is that we love our dogs and children (I love their dogs so much I brought a large percentage of dog home on my clothes), and we have chosen to spend our lives with them. But digress, do I.
The time at their home was wonderful, as they are warm and gracious hosts & embarrassingly generous. We were actually showered with gifts of furniture and wall hangings as we were leaving. Okay, not literally showered, that might have stung. Comics were purchased and pedicures were had, wine was drunk and cigars were smoked - there was much talk, and not a little Wii. Edicts were shouted through a dime store ceramic Chinese monkey. Matt's last minute turkey pot pies are now on my list of favorite foods, and if I ever get a death row meal there is no doubt that they will be there next to Cayce's pumpkin spice cake. (My wife's fried chicken, my own chili, Grace's squash casserole, Josh's eggs, and my mom's sausage balls would likely fill this list out, along with some limeade and a freshly pulled Guinness.) Their dog Blaze is fucking massive now, and they are deluding themselves that he's almost done growing. He had a fascination with tasting Abby's face while we were there, which was both amusing and annoying. There were naps and long wasted stretches of time - everything a Turkey Day vacation ought to have these days.
An antique toy clock outside of our room was stopped at 10:48. There is nothing better for a long weekend's break than a stopped clock outside your room. "Seemed late when you finally came to bed last night." "Wasn't but about 10:48." Got in the shower at 10:48, came out a little past 10:48. Kids went to bed at 10:48. "When did you get up?" 10:48. We ate at about 10:48. Nothing reinforces timelessness on a vacation like that. I loved it. I'm thinking about doing that again at Christmas.
Hope everyone else had as good a Turkey Day as I did. But you probably didn't.
