I never traveled away from home during Thanksgiving in my adult life. Living in a ski resort (especially in the early days) there was nothing traditional. The holiday for residents was the first day of ski season. You worked on the mountain and had turkey on your next day off (maybe.)
I used to watch the news when the big storms hit and congratulated myself on not being one of those poor folks sleeping on the floor in the airport.
Well, this year we broke the mold. My daughter, Alicia, and her family are living in Florida and late November is usually a safe time to visit, hurricane and weather-wise.
My son-in-law made the reservations in August (he likes making reservations.) He chose long layovers versus tight connections. The weather was perfect and every plane took off on time. Only one problem. I tripped and smashed my knee several days before leaving Montrose. An x-ray showed no fracture. However, we had economy seats on two Air Buses and by the time we arrived, my knee was close to the size of a soccer ball.
As I write this in late November, I have a baseball-sized knee, yellow and purple and red and angry swollen. There’s been a lot of warnings about blood clots from sitting too long on cramped airplanes, but an ultrasound at the Montrose E.R. showed no blood clots. The doc said to keep off my feet and elevate the leg. And see my real doctor next week.
This was not meant to be too much of a rant. I really have so much to be grateful for. The weather was sublime. My grandchildren seem to get better each year. I got to go see them and hug them.
And our dog still loved us when we returned.