My family is, well, like most I assume. Trying. I feel safe saying this here because I do not believe anyone from my immediate family reads this blog. If I am wrong, I will pay. There is always drama, there is always noise and Western One and I are not the type of people that thrive on that. So after a recent family wedding which was full of drama, noise and discussion about Thanksgiving, I couldn't shake the thought of a holiday in my own control. I am an adult, in a committed relationship complete with house and dog. I work hard, I'm tired and I'm entitled to a holiday on my own terms every now and again, right? Does this desire make me a bad person?
I'm also Irish and loaded with genetic guilt. So while I'd been fantasizing about my very own holiday, in my own home, without anyone to answer to, I knew I would never have the guts to say "Yeah, I'm not coming home. No, we don't have other plans, I'm just not coming home." It's tough when one family is close and the other is too far away to garner equal holiday time. Then, today, while driving beautiful Rte 7 between Manchester and Bennington, VT (complete with a 6-pointer AND a flock of turkeys hanging by the side of the road) I get the news that indeed I am in control of my own holiday. I feel a little bad for saying this, but, yay! We may cook and have people over, we may go out, we may drink beer, eat pizza and watch football. I have no idea. But for the first time, I get to decide.