Over the River and Through the Woods

Home for the holidays

I believe I've missed each and every face

Come on and play one easy

Let's turn on the love lights in the place

It's time I found myself

Totally surrounded in your circles

Oh my friends

Please celebrate me home

Give me a number

Please celebrate me home

Play me one more song

That I'll always remember

I can recall whenever I

Find myself too all alone

I can sing me home

-Kenny Loggins, 1977

11.27.24

Forty-one degrees outside, and it can't quite decide whether to cover us in clear blue sky or autumn gray, so we're getting a little of both.

I guess I snap a photo of that view and post it here lazily often, but it is lovely, isn't it? I mean, who gets to live on a hill, across from a park, in a Greek revival home tucked in a Currier and Ives community? Us, for now at least.

Of course, the old girl's starting to sag, which is cause for concern. More for me than for Peg, I guess. The latest manifestation reveals itself in interior doors that won't fully close and latch, their jambs out of square as the west side of the house droops and a hump starts to form between the front and back of the structure. Toilet time is now a shared experience with whomever is in the next room. And God help you if Dean and Slane get curious about what's going on in there.

You can see it, sort of, in the upstairs hallway.

As much as to capture the bump in the floor, I suppose I took the picture this morning because I want to remember the details of this place and this time. It's all so very fleeting, isn't it?

When P gets off work, we'll hop back in the XT5 and drive over the Adirondacks and Berkshires for Thanksgiving weekend with the kids and the Reeves. This tradition has become a very big deal for me over the last several years, a tonic for the melancholy that settles in if I let myself ponder on the ones I love and rarely or never see, and the ones I'll never see again in this lifetime. This is self-indulgent navel gazing if I let myself fall into it; Marcus Aurelius wouldn't approve. I'm incredibly grateful that my Massachusetts family has welcomed me to the table, treated me like I've been there all along. It isn't always that way, you know, when it comes to this whole blended family thing. Listening to us talk at the kitchen counter about Roman history or the latest political foible in the news, you'd think I've been here all along.

P and I are scheduled to look at a couple houses while we're there, although the preliminary results are sort of discouraging. This house would likely cost $2 million around Andover, and at our price point there are some dandy fixer-uppers to be had. We're just too old for fixer-uppers. We'll see how it goes. Speaking only for myself, I've never been happier with a place than I've been here, and it seems like the two of us have thrived as a couple in this space. I'm also concerned about getting out over our skis with a house that soaks up all of our liquidity. At the same time, it sure would be nice to be closer to family. This time of year always brings that home.

We'll see how it goes. The answer to the dilemma will reveal itself.

Now time to dive into finishing a complete draft of the appellate brief that's due on Monday. I've assembled 54 pages of pure crap, getting interrupted every time I get into a writing groove. The day before Thanksgiving is prime territory for me to tackle a big writing project, as those vexations to my spirit who would start calling about now are all on the road so they can be vexations to their family around the table tomorrow.

I can't wait to join the traveling throng a little later with P. Some of our happiest days have been spent on that wintery highway between here and Andover.