As soon as we could shake off The Man, we drove from lowcountry to high country; or, as we like to call it, God's country: Asheville, NC:
At home, the kitchen was peaceful. Lo, the calm before the storm:
We trimmed the tree; this year's theme was "birds, covered in glitter":
We stuffed a turkey the size of my apartment:
Things started to pick up. There was cranberry sauce to be made:
This year Scott got his own Christmas plate, because it's never official until there's fine china involved:
You might say I made the centerpiece too big, and you might be right:
Ron pauses for a moment of reflection before demonstrating, for the 6834th time, the universally acclaimed "Ron technique" for unwrapping gifts:
Christmas Zeal at its glorious Zenith:
We made our annual pilgrimage to the Antiques Tobacco Barn. Scott feels right at home with a banjo on his lap:
On Christmas morning the sugar plum fairies stared in confusion as we drove to the airport at 5:30 am. Next stop on the Holiday Tour: Scott's family headquarters in Houston, Texas.Texas was great: balmy, hospitable, and big. The malls had malls:
(One day, all of this will be yours)There was fine dining at Mark's Restaurant:
And fine rocking with Mark's band (unrelated, though equally delicious):
Rock, baby, rock. Scott practiced his patented kick-shuffle before taking the stage at Rudyard's:
There were high school reunions which led, inevitably....
... to faceshaking. As they do:
We arrived back in Asheville just in time to see my dear ol' dad before hitting the open road. Do you know what isn't fair? My dad's ridiculous tan. I look like mashed potatoes next to that tawny mug. That's Christmas in the Virgin Islands for you (shakes a pale fist in despair):
It was time to bring the Southern portion of our journey to an end, so we loaded up the truck and headed down the mountain:
Our next chapter will pick up somewhere just shy of the Mason-Dixon, at the precise moment when I realized that I couldn't drive and take pictures at the same time. Luckily, Scott was asleep. 
