We drove up to Richmond for Thanksgiving at my sister's house. Most excellent.
On Thanksgiving morning the family ran a Turkey Trot at a country club so fancy that "5K race" refers to the average trust-fund distribution for members in the time it takes to run three miles. I'm not saying this place had an Aryan vibe, but the race video was called Triumph of the Will. A bum knee slowed me enough that I avoided cardiac arrest. I limped the last mile, asking myself, why don't you walk, answering, because I signed up as a runner. Idiot.
Bubba-in-law fried a turkey. Perfect wine for fried turkey: Chateauneuf du Pape. Complimentary, yet irreverent. When did my sister become such a good cook? She set the table with our grandmother's silver. These are the traditions our kids will remember the way Sarah and I remember all those Thanksgivings at our grandparent's house on Rockford Road in Greensboro.
Friday night we went out for Indian food in Carytown. Then home yesterday via uncrowded state roads. Hope to do absolutely nothing today.