Thanksgiving . . . my favorite holiday
This year I will spend it far away from my family, my home, my country. Traditionally, my family cerebrates with everyone gathering at one home, sharing an abundance of delicious food, and always inviting friends, often friends of friends, who need a place to be, to feel included. I heard through the family grapevine that my sister Susy is hosting and nearly seventy guests will attend. Sounds like she’s taken inclusion to a whole new level. I can think of no better way to show gratitude and give thanks than to spread a little love.
Of course, there is no Thanksgiving in Italy. I’ll spend the morning writing, squeeze in a power walk before lunch, write some more and then hop on a crowded metro to my Italian class. I’ll be welcomed by my teacher, the lovely Marta. I’ll butcher the language for ninety minutes while she sweetly exclaims, Bene, bene! When class is finished I’ll bundle up, give a cheery, A Domani, and head home. I’ll make a game of studying the other passengers on the metro, make up stories about their jobs and their lives. In my mind I’ll pair them up with my American friend look a likes. I’ll want to sneak a photo, but that would be a boundary pusher. My mind will drift a bit and I’ll remember it’s Thanksgiving Day. For a few minutes I’ll wish I was home and my heart will ache a little.
Then I’ll remember that my Aunt Marissa is making me a special Thanksgiving meal, Osso Bucco and Apple Pie. No kidding, she really is. And it dawns on me . . . this year I’m the one who needs a place to be, to feel included. And in a place where they don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving, I found it.
Grateful . . .
Happy Thanksgiving to All my loves, family, friends, teachers and faithful followers.
I am grateful for each and every one of you, every dang day.