This stretch between Christmas and New Year's, and the few days on either side of the holidays, usually has my family traveling. This year was no exception. Last week, the four of us flew to Atlanta to spend a few days with my side of the clan—we met at my mother's house, my sisters and their families and my bunch. We sat around and told stories and laughed and had the big meal and laughed and opened presents and laughed. We like to laugh, and I'm not talking about muffled chuckles. Sometimes our cackling could startle a rabbit, whatever that means.
This Christmas was our last in my mother's house because she's about to move in with my sister. If this house were our family homestead, where we had all grown up, that might have been sort of traumatic for us, but my parents moved into this house after we had all left. I have no childhood memories related to it, and I don't think I'll miss it, but my mother was troubled. Despite knowing next year will be different from our last 20 years of Christmases, this year gave us a great holiday.
On Christmas day, we all headed to my sister's house—it's large and rambling like an old farmhouse even though it's not so old, and we can spread out or all fit in one room if we'd rather. We had a great brunch buffet, and then it began to snow. It snowed like it was Ohio, and it kept snowing huge flakes that covered the ground, an unusual sight in Georgia. In my sister's front yard, there is a massive magnolia tree they planted when it was just six feet tall, and now it's at least 40 feet. Here is a photo of it with Eustacia in front for scale. Winter in Georgia! Who would have guessed.
Then, Husband, No. 1 and I flew back to Ohio after some treacherous moments at the Atlanta airport—the place ran out of de-icing fluid! And Eustacia flew to Romania—by way of being stranded for a day in Frankfurt. Next up, the State-side bunch will spend New Year's in Sonoma. I swear, if it snows there, I'm buying a parka.