The migration begins

Already at lunchtime today, I was in the subway station and saw at least half a dozen people struggling with luggage. Many friends have already left town, others leaving soon. It's a great ritual, the annual Thanksgiving migration. I used to take part, in college, when I would take the train to New York and spend the holiday with my friend JR. That was always an adventure: piling onto the Septa train to Trenton, NJ, then following the masses to the New Jersey Transit and hope against hope that we'd find a seat somewhere, and then the ride from Penn Station via subway and bus out to JR's family home in Queens. And then the next morning we'd walk down the street and have the best bagels in the universe, but I digress.

Ever since moving back to California, the Thanksgiving ritual has been simple: I drive to wherever my family is having their gathering. For the last several years, it's been at my aunt and uncle's place in Sacramento, but this year my grandma is hosting in Santa Rosa. Which is nice, because it's a shorter drive, and otherwise I wouldn't get to see Grandma -- she's holding up well enough for 88, but she doesn't travel well, so if the holiday isn't at her place, she won't be there. So, Santa Rosa it is. And then we have a nice long weekend to ourselves, which is the other major advantage of not having to travel anywhere.

T's family always gets Christmas. It's a fair trade, I would say. Especially since it's usually easier to arrange travel during times that are a little less crazy. Right now it looks like we'll be down there a few days before the holiday, and then back in more than enough time to join my family. Handy, when it all works out.