Having spent 21 Thanksgivings in the US/Canada, it never occurred to me how quintessentially American the holiday is. Here and everywhere else, it’s a regular day of school and work: there are no pies lining the store shelves or hours spent slaving in the kitchen making food from scratch. When I decided to move to BP, this is exactly the sort of removed perspective I hoped to gain. It’s bittersweet. Like the cranberry sauce I’m not having today.
B, Rina, and I had a quick dinner at a middle eastern restaurant to commemorate the day (we’re sort of the American contingency of the group; I’ve told Rina, who is not actually American, that she is the most USA-loving person I know here!). My humus, baclava, and cappuccino were delicious, if not the standard fare. Next year, I’m resolved to plan more in advance for the day.
Even (especially?!) without its pomp and circumstance, Thanksgiving is a welcome reminder of all that we can be grateful for, and I’ve felt especially fortunate this past year.
Hope you and yours feel the same, wherever you may be.