My Old Fezziwig's
Nov. 14th, 2006 01:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueMy immediate family has always been crap at Thanksgiving. It was a little better when my maternal grandmother was alive, and the extended family would descend upon Clinton House with various savory foods but in the main, desserts of the pie variety. Usually, a football game was watched. Not a terrible holiday, but one that felt like a lesser version of Christmas - perhaps a technical rehearsal. Once my parents moved to Boston, Thanksgiving was largely scrapped. Sometimes, we would see a movie; other times, we would go visit my paternal grandmother and eat cafeteria food.
As a result, I didn't develop any special love of Thanksgiving until I married Patrick, whose family Thanksgivings are delightful. Several full days are spent in the preparation of food, and it becomes necessary to invite as many guests as possible to as to excuse the three varieties of sweet potato, four different salads, three cranberry sauces, etc.; these guests are pulled at random from the family's unaffiliated friends, and thus a conversation group might include a cattle rancher, the manager of an adult video store, a performance artist, a telecom engineer, and a semi-retired golfer.
Nevertheless, there is food left over, mounds of food, which helped enable the best part of Thanksgiving: second Thanksgiving, a gathering of the friend group and our leftovers, which span the gamut from traditional fare to tofurky to enchiladas. This second Thanksgiving, though its members are not connected by blood, is no less a family affair. It was also, in many respects, a final party before Patrick and I left town for a month to spend Christmas and New Year's at my parents'. Thanksgiving replaced New Year's as my favorite holiday.
I'm going to miss Thanksgiving, miss Patrick's family, miss my friends, miss the special foods and my special carving knife (which is not mine; which is Patrick's family's; which was exclusively used by me). It is hard to have lost both family Thanksgiving and second Thanksgiving in the same year. I have known it was coming; have done and will do what I can to arm against the day; may be able to join friends in Ireland. Nevertheless, I expect to be homesick, perhaps doubly so with the burden of Ciro's isolation.
As a result, I didn't develop any special love of Thanksgiving until I married Patrick, whose family Thanksgivings are delightful. Several full days are spent in the preparation of food, and it becomes necessary to invite as many guests as possible to as to excuse the three varieties of sweet potato, four different salads, three cranberry sauces, etc.; these guests are pulled at random from the family's unaffiliated friends, and thus a conversation group might include a cattle rancher, the manager of an adult video store, a performance artist, a telecom engineer, and a semi-retired golfer.
Nevertheless, there is food left over, mounds of food, which helped enable the best part of Thanksgiving: second Thanksgiving, a gathering of the friend group and our leftovers, which span the gamut from traditional fare to tofurky to enchiladas. This second Thanksgiving, though its members are not connected by blood, is no less a family affair. It was also, in many respects, a final party before Patrick and I left town for a month to spend Christmas and New Year's at my parents'. Thanksgiving replaced New Year's as my favorite holiday.
I'm going to miss Thanksgiving, miss Patrick's family, miss my friends, miss the special foods and my special carving knife (which is not mine; which is Patrick's family's; which was exclusively used by me). It is hard to have lost both family Thanksgiving and second Thanksgiving in the same year. I have known it was coming; have done and will do what I can to arm against the day; may be able to join friends in Ireland. Nevertheless, I expect to be homesick, perhaps doubly so with the burden of Ciro's isolation.
