Festivus is as Festivus be

There was a fine old family reunion awaiting us when we got to Rochester. Delta's sister had prepared a spread of food which put Thanksgiving to shame. Wine was flowing freely, and each time I paused in conversation to breathe, seems like someone topped up my glass. There were mothers and sisters and grandmothers and daughters, sons, nephews and cousins. The evening was even peppered with an airing of grievances and a sprinkling of tears. For what family reunion is truly a reunion without an airing of grievances.

We got to spend a considerable amount of time at home with Delta's mum, who is a living example of how old age should be. Any time you caught her when she wasn't aware of being watched, she would be dancing by herself to the radio in the kitchen. May we all age with such good cheer.

And we pulled on our wellies and sloshed through the snow in a nearby park. We followed deer and bunny tracks along the river, until our frost-bitten toes were shouting out for a toasting.

Overall, it was a weekend to warm the cockles, and we were filled with a sense of emotional repleteness as we arrived at the airport for our return trip home. And then, our hearts sank. There they were, people by the hundreds. All pulling their hairs out of their head, pushed to their limits with delays and cancellations. The flight boards told a morbid story. Delayed. Delayed. Delayed. Cancelled. Cancelled. Delayed. Cancelled.

We had just about resigned oruselves to a night at the airport, when suddenly an announcement was made over the PA system. Flight 137 to JFK will be departing on time. Ours! On time! In the midst of all this mayhem! I have no idea why it happened, or even how it could have possibly happened, but if our flight was set to take off on time, I wasn't about to question it. If I didn't know better, I'd have called it a Festivus miracle.