I didn’t expect to go this many days without posting, but I kind of got lazy over my Thanksgiving break.

I took last Wednesday off from work, and Matt and I saw a matinee of The Boy From Oz. I liked it more than I’d expected to. The plot is nothing special, and the show would be nothing without Hugh Jackman; even with him, it’s basically just an enjoyable afternoon at the theater. But that’s worth something. The over-the-top impersonations of Judy Garland and Liza Minelli added to the fun — as did the post-show auction of a t-shirt worn by Hugh Jackman, which went for $2,000.

I went to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving on Wednesday night, and I didn’t come back until tonight. That happens a lot when I visit my parents’ house: I get comfortable there, and I postpone leaving until the last possible moment. It’s so cozy.

On Wednesday night one of my favorite movies, The Age of Innocence, was on HBO, so I cuddled up with a blanket and watched it. Sometimes at the end of a vacation I look back nostalgically to the beginning of the vacation. That’s the point I’m looking back at right now.

On Thursday we had a delicious Thanksgiving dinner with a few relatives and friends over.

Much of the rest of the weekend was depressing — boredom, dark clouds in the sky, worrying about work, knowing that Thanksgiving vacation would eventually end. Friday was a blur, except for a trip to a local secondhand bookstore, where I bought Richard Rodgers’s autobiography.

Saturday night was better. My parents and I went to see The Station Agent, which has the sexiest dwarf I’ve ever seen, and then we went to a typical New Jersey diner for dinner.

Today I helped my parents and my aunt clean out my grandmother’s apartment in her assisted-living community, because my dad and my aunt have just moved her into a nursing home. We kept passing old people who would ask us whether she’d died or just gone to a home. “Once you come here you never know where the next stop is,” one of the old women said.

Then my mom took me grocery shopping and then home, so I now have a refrigerator full of food once more.

I feel so secure at my parents’ house, and it’s often a little unsettling to come back to my regular life. Especially at times like now, when my regular life feels unsettled. At least I have the nice memories — cozying up with the dog on the couch with a blanket watching movies on TV, eating out with my parents, having interesting Thanksgiving conversation with our guests, falling asleep in the guest room at night listening to my mom’s CD of the London production of “Oklahoma”…

I don’t know why I worry so much about the future when there always seem to be new things up ahead to someday get nostalgic about.