Thanksgiving

We are not very sure on how to celebrate Thanksgiving, since it is not our holiday. But it involves turkey, wine, friends and therefore it is an excuse to break out the kiddie table and fight about politics with the cousins. I have a lot of cousins and a big apartment to fit them all in. And the turkey has already been slaughtered so we might as well roast it and eat it (or at least try). And it is close to the November feasts which we never celebrated anyway but still enjoyed what with the days off and the solemn concerts of yore.

This year’s Thanksgiving started in the morning with my dad who, after trying my mom’s patient for half an hour, suddenly started  giving thanks for the big apartment we were in, and the nice weather we were having. He proclaimed he was giving thanks every hour on the hour for something.

The womenfolk including yours truly were hard at work on cooking. I know that Thanksgiving is one of the holidays with a very set menu but my mom took one bite of the yams one year and declared disdain for all foreign food that cannot decide whether to be sweet or salty, spicy or mild and tries to be all. so she cooks what she wants, and I buy the rest. (Yesterday my manager was horrified at the idea that I would buy apple pie, not pumpkin for Thanksgiving. She told me that the only way I could have apple instead of pumpkin was to eat it with an wedge of cheddar cheese. I could see her horrified face as my mom took out the pershesh. Turkey innards are for stuffing purposes only. I learned this when my cousin reduced her New Englander cousin-in-law to tears when she stole the turkey’s heart for her pershesh).

However, I decided to get involved this year and do some shrimps, sauces and other little things here and there that do not require much work ( i hate work) but can still be eaten. In the end, the heaped table did not make sense at all but it smelled wonderful, if i do say so myself (I can because I ate half of it). We had the turkey, the pershesh, the shrimps scampi, the tzaziki sauce, the russian salad (who the russian call french and the french call it good to eat) and the seaweed salad in honor of the new neighborhood. Truly international.

There were kids playing, grownups drinking and singing out loud, other grownups discussing politics, religion, origins, ancients napping in a corner and one baby who watching it all with interest. At one point, my little cousins came to me very excited. “wow they said, “we did not know you drew stuff”. I had forgotten I drew stuff. Once upon a time. Very long ago. I drew stuff. they kept on watching me with newfound respect throughout the evening.

I had a dejavu. I remembered how excited I was when I found my uncle’s notes on how to kiss girls, how to talk to them and make them go home with him. there were several models of love letters and some unsavory descriptions of taking their bras off, but I did not wear a bra then so I did not pay it very much attention. However, I was hooked on the kissing part dreaming night and day about the special one who would say the right words and would position me just so, before he brushed his lips sweetly with mine, slowly blowing on them and mingling our breaths before he would truly attach his lips to mine and whisk me away to eternity. There was something with the tongues too, but the notes emphasized that it could be done only if the girl wanted to, and I did not see the point of it. It wasn’t in the movies.

And tonight, my little vixens found a secret of their old cousin. I felt a bit like a rite of passage was completed. They would remember me later as the cousin who could draw. It beats being remembered as the cousin who could eat and be a scary witch after three glasses of wine. And sing the baritone instead of the soprano.

My dad gave thanks several more times today, once about his beautiful nephew, then the internet connection and then other things. He seemed so proud that he had figured out the meaning of Thanksgiving all by himself and kept asking everyone: “Well, what are you going to give thanks for? What makes you most grateful?”

Well, having him for a father makes me very grateful. And the fact that he is still an innocent wonderful man who is not afraid to figure life out and give thanks for it. And a lot of other mushy-lushy stuff that  I do not want to dwell in right now. it does not jive with the figure of the cool older cousin who can draw sexy supermodels.

the luggage

both suitcases sit splayed on the carpet. we stand around, murmuring with each-other, one folding clothes, one fixing them, one taking them out and putting them in the other one. then we zip them up and we weight them.

this one is 59.

shoot. how about the other one?

this one is 62

what on earth do you have in here?

i don’t know. stuff. my things, the clothes I got at the mall, your gifts.

ok, let’s open them again.

we open them again.

see, i told you not to put the medicine in their boxes. take them out.

but I won’t remember what they are for.

come on, you got 20 boxes of Advil there. what do you think they are for.

people will think i am giving them used stuff.

yeah right. they have the seal inside, see. keep the receipts too.

ok

we zip them up and weigh them again. 60 and 58 lbs. oh poot.

we circle them. hmm.

On a Sunday

She woke up early that morning,  fixed her bed, then went to wash her face and comb her hair. Her hair always gave her trouble, because it was thick and wavy and it never stayed long within the confines of the big black clips behind her ears. It was also strangely healthy for a woman her age. She was secretly proud of it although not vain. She had never been vain. The whole neighborhood could testify as to her modesty, moral and character. The ones that were still left anyway. Most had moved away with their children, or died. She could count the remaining ones with the fingers of one hand, still remembering when they moved in as brides, grooms, young parents full of worry, stress and little kids. The truth was, she barely recognised their faces today, mostly when they said hi on the street, or when they came to ask her for little favors that only good neighbors can provide. As much as the neighborhood changed, they still knew which door was still open for an extra cup of sugar, a saucer of yogurt, or a jug of water for when their own fancy faucets ran out.

cooking

my mom is in albania these days. and, for all my modern exterior, feminist ideas and bla, bla, bla, i cannot in clean consciensewatch my dad cook. i can feel at least 16 generations of women turning in their graves and unhinging their jawbones at the thought of me sitting down on the table and eating the food my father has prepared. cooking for a man is in my genes and takes priority over career, dating, even sales at Barnes and Nobles. unfortunate, shocking but nevertheless it is the truth.

and while i lick the cookie batter off the spatula, i can see that i, ahem, went a tiny bit overboard this time. was i that eager to prove myself a bonafidekitchen goddess? it looks like it.

the thing is i rarely get my chance to prove myself in the kitchen. with a mom at home and various female cousins standing by in the kitchen at any family gathering, i do not see the point of showing off my mettle. i do not really have any mettle. i do not even know what it is.

but i am discovering i am not that different after all. am i losing my edge? am i getting old and traditional? say it aint so!

that is why i reflect on why people cook:

Big Decision Time

for those of you who have been wondering where i have disappeared, i want to apologize and explain. not that i owe you anything. but i fancy that you like me enough to care, and that you can’t sleep at night with worries of me.

well, in short, i got married. i decided that it was time to make my parents happy and get my friend a green card so we tied the knot last week in a civil ceremony in NY city hall. it is not very hard to get a license you know.

we got a license, waited a day, and then became a couple officially. i wore black in deference to NY and he wore a red tie with a black eagle which i asked him to keep on on the wedding night. his eyes were green in deference to the green card, and my underwear was white so that my mom had nothing to complain about.

so mazel tov to me and you’re all invited to the wedding when we actually get to have one. we’ll dance, we’ll prance, and we’ll give all the bridesmaids up for sale. for now, you’d just have to content with a virtual Turkish delight.

another attack.

there is a strange atmosphere tonight as i come home. an almost cheery mood is spread along the rooms, and a strange half-smile plays on my mother’s lips. actually it is not that strange. it is one of those smiles that tells me that “there is something to be said”, “there are some interesting developments” “there are words” kind of thing.

i cringe a bit inside. whenever my parents have these type of smiles playing on their lips, something is going on. and it is usually something that they need my help with. and something i will not like to help with. but that i have to do. for the sake of my parents. for the sake of family.

it usually involves a “new” piece of furniture, or a new telephone conversation my father has had with those nice girls at telemarketing. or an “El Gordo” lottery letter which invites me to claim 896,563 EURO in Spain, right after i submit my bank account and routing number. and don’t forget the social security number.

family affair

today, we congregated. in the living room, in the kitchen, on top of the dish-washer and in the bathroom, the family gathered, discussed, fiercely protected or criticized, yelled, ate food, and found a way to work it out. yes we did.

the casualties were too  few to mention, the smiles too rare to count, but they were still there. and it was good to share them with the others, to feel the family-ness cement all around us and in us. it gave us the feeling of invincibility, the warm puddle in the middle of the winter kind of thing, the thrive of moss in radioactive areas.

conflicts arose as they will arise again, but they were appeased as they will hopefully be appeased again. we overloaded but we did not blew up, we were easily embarrassed from each-other but we did not pull apart because of it. in the middle of pain that sharp words and askance glances caused, there was affection and care, and fuzzy slippers took the edge off stumbling and sharp shelf corners.

to my personal chagrin, i am learning to depend on my family, i am finding myself craving their closeness and their intrusive questions, even as i resent them. i like the morning salad, i like the home-made bread and above all, i like enfolding myself in the fluffy blanket of warmth that was woven tonight, even though it was not for me. i can’t help but feel blessed and even a bit dismayed at myself for not being able to fully give in to the bounty of goodness that is my family. 

maybe one day i will find myself totally meshed with it. maybe there will not be an ounce of resentment as my father requires a word-for-word translation of “pre-approved” offers, or as my mother asks me to get change from a store. maybe i will finally be able to let go of my need to be nice to all the world and replace it with the need to be nice and forgiving to my family. maybe it will take another night like tonight, and another show of support from its newest additions.

but tonight we made it baby, yeah.