 | Leftovers are for folks with a fridge... Whisky and Benadryll
Thanksgiving might have been different this year in that we celebrated in an Irish pub, that we didn't have second helpings or leftovers today and turkey sandwiches tomorrow but at the same time it was the same. To me, this holiday has always been about spending time with family, sharing stories and memories. Listening, talking, laughing and eating. Usually on Thanksgivings when I've been in Santa Fe I'll wake up with a hangover and head to my parents house around 1pm. My mom will have been cooking all day and the house will smell of turkey and love. Everyone will be excited, starving and we'll pop open a few bottles of champagne - gossip as my parents run around the house with various foodstuffs. Kevin and I will help stir gravy or chop potatoes and then the turkey will come out of the oven and all of us will ooh and awe over in all of its basted glory. Then we'll go set up the table, not the normal one but the holiday table that's only used for special occasions. More champagne and then a few shots of good tequila and all of us have a buzz. There's rice pilaf on the table, canned cranberry (my guilty pleasure) my moms homemade cranberry sauce, lots of stuffing, the gravy boat and the bird. Dad carves the breast and the dog gets the neck. Then its glasses clinking, forks and knives scraping on plates, satisfied moans and lips smacking and gravy spilling on the tablecloth. We lean back stuffed and relaxed, plates are cleared coffee is poured and my proud mother brings out homemade pumpkin pie and homemade whipped cream. After the mandatory nap we'll do it again and again the next day. If my brother or I have orphan friends in town then they'll celebrate with us.
Yesterday San Francisco helped me realize that while I wasn't at my parents table I was still with my family. I was with Eric and Nicole two people crazy enough to follow me on this adventure - as I sit here in this Internet cafe in North Beach writing I come to the conclusion that this is what I'm thankful for. Our day wasn't perfect but it was spent together. That's what the meaning of this holiday is. This is why it's one of my favorite holidays. Even as a Jew I can see that the true meaning of Christmas has been bastardized by dollar signs but thanksgiving still remains true to its intentions. You don't need to buy or give anything - you just need to be there. I might not have enjoyed my food last night but I sure as hell enjoyed my company. I can't complain about drinking pint after pint ofGuinness and Jameson on the rocks but I can't say I'm used to it - still it felt right. O'reillys Pub isn't the Brouse house and San Francisco isn't Santa Fe but when the turkey arrived on my plate and that smell reached my nose I closed my eyes and imaged it could be. The noises were all the same, the smells the feelings all of it. A million miles away and still I felt at home.
We took a walk afterwards and I bought chocolate covered pretzels and garbage pail kids stickers and the fudge shop and JW Red from the liquor store next to the hotel. Up on our floor there was an orphan party for people who had no family, no where to go. The room next to Eric was spilling out in the hallway with hippies and crack heads and weirdos from Alabama and yet they were doing the same as us. Holding on to that American tradition of food and family. Even though they didn't have much they invited us to join them to share their wine and listen to their stories and we did at least partially. Last night as I took my benadryll and washed it down with the last of the scotch and slept in a strange bed I smiled because I'm not alone and I am loved - even if its in the mist of madness. |
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