Thanksgiving Day. One of those times where I truly feel like an expatriot. It makes it very tangible that my own family is so far away, but since I have no tradition of celebrating this holiday, nor eat turkey, it’s ok. A Thursday off from work is celebration enough.
Last year around this time I had been living in my Brooklyn apartment all of one week, and I was still taking long walks every day to get to know the neighborhood. The Thanksgiving day walk that year made me feel like I was the only one in the world at that point, with all the shops closed and people huddled together in the kitchens I was alone on the streets. Today, there were lots of people, many carrying bags of food, on their way to the celebrations. I was alone but didn’t feel lonely.
My neighbor downstairs always cooks and fills the stairway with an aroma that makes me feel famished, and today it was especially potent. I cooked my own Thanksgiving meal: cabbage, marinated seitan and roasted fingerling potatoes. I enjoyed it accompanied by Marilyn and Gable in black and white.
Go pardon a turkey and forgive a friend for something they did wrong.
November 28, 2008
