After dinner, once I'd arrived at my parents' house this evening, I tried out my old upright piano, just to see how many of its keys are out of tune. Only one was ferociously bad, bad enough that my father and I had the same impulse: open that thing up and see if we can figure out how to tune it. Within about fifteen minutes, we (by which I mean: his mechanical know-how and my ear) had gotten it close enough for me to serenade them before we all headed upstairs to bed. It's good to be the daughter.
(Oh yeah: it occurs to me that I should clarify that I'm not playing hooky from school. One of the best things about my employer is that we get a full week for Thanksgiving. I will fight hard if we ever start hearing about changes to this aspect of our calendar, because the week usually comes just in time, and goodness knows December is hard enough as it is.)