Home.

Home.  Decompression.  Sleep interrupted by dreams of projects unfinished, only to wake to projects finished and Thanksgiving morning.  A nice break from my new life, this.

The drive home began uneventfully enough, but eventually ran into a blizzard on the top of a mountain in West Virginia.  A complete whiteout at two in the morning–we had to pull over.  Eventually, I drove us very slowly down the mountain and to the first exit with a hotel.  Everything was booked for miles–apparently we weren’t the only ones traveling home for Thanksgiving.  We ended up at a Holiday Inn about fifteen miles off of I-77, near the New River Gorge.  By the time we finally slept it was after four in the morning.  The next day, too, began uneventfully enough, but eventually ran into a progressively worsening snowstorm that peaked right as we got into the Cleveland area.  We started missing Savannah, we considered turning around.  I got home safely at about six last night, she got home safely about four hours later.

Before going to bed, I spent several hours watching old Super 8 films that my grandfather (and others) shot years ago.  My parents’ wedding, my sister’s first Christmas, the first moon landing (on TV), one of my first birthdays… strange to realize that not only did my grandfather have the same obsession with recording life as I do, but that he saw life through a lens in much the same way as I do.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

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