There's no place like home for the holidays.
The weather on the interstate was certainly frightful. It was a wet, driving snow coming from the west. I could barely see the road at points. But I made it safely.
I rolled into the Oak at 7:15 and promptly got back into the car with Dad and Sarah to attend the high school band's winter concert. It was interesting to walk into such a familiar space and go to an event where I knew none of the kids performing and recognized only a couple of people in the audience.
Spent most of the weekend moving Josh back to Davenport and scrubbing his filthy apartment. Met up with Tonia and Volesky on Saturday night and went to a bar in the District in Moline, which reminded me a bit of Pearl Street in Boulder. Good times, good times.
Dad's making Chex mix; I can smell the Worcestershire sauce. And the garage door just opened; Mom's home.
I think I'll have some Irish cream.