Happy Thanksgiving. Even in these economically hard times, there is much to be grateful for as we mark the end of America's Dark Ages and begin a new era. I'm particularly thankful for all the non-political teachable moments we are getting from the Obamas: It's not worth holding a grudge (see asking Hillary to be Secretary of State). There is no one better to help you raise your kids than grandma (see asking "First Granny" Marion Robinson to move into the White House to help Malia and Sasha adjust to life in DC). No matter what they throw at you, stay calm, centered, and collected (see "Muslim," "Socialist," "palling around with terrorists"). All great lessons to bring home with us this Thanksgiving holiday.
On this Thanksgiving let's try to count our blessings and not our calories, blessings not balance sheets, blessings not division, blessings not bombs.
Some years it was steak, some years it was my grandmother's home cooked meals. I never learned her amazing recipes because I had to not cook to be free. I can cook in my next life.
For the last eight years, every morning, I'd sit down to breakfast, crack open the newspaper, roll my eyes for my kids' amusement and say, "Okay, let's see what our president's doing to us today!" And it was never good.
Ever since my mom got beat by George Bush Jr. we've congregated for Thanksgiving down at Padre Island, near Harlingen, Texas. We liked to think of this gathering at the beach as the Hyannis Port of the South.
I am so effin' thankful for a president my kids can admire and think is cool. And for a president I can admire and think is cool.
Somewhere between the stuffing making and the gravy sipping, I'd like to propose we pause and consider our continuing relationship with the Native Americans.
Sarah's first thankfulness was "I'm thankful for this turkey, and also too for the metal funnel thingy that cut the turkey's head clean off while it was flapping its wings trying to get out and all. That was fun."
The proclamation which established a national day of Thanksgiving was issued during Lincoln's administration. It is tempting to draw comparisons between then and now.
Iraq and Afghanistan veterans have faced unprecedented challenges, but we also have some things to be thankful for this year.
It was the Monday after Thanksgiving, thirty years ago today, that San Francisco again changed forever. Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk were assassinated.
My own top picks for food-themed movies were all released in the past twenty years, and most emanate from distant shores. So, let's take a little trip around the world.
As we gather around the table to give thanks, let us remember what richness lies in the soil and the soul of this nation. We will thrive with or without our 401Ks.
Yes, we're going to the Lower East Side. Not only because it's where my people made their first assault on America. Even more, because a no-frills meal, simply prepared and simply served, suggests our gratitude for the essential things.
There will be 15 of us at dinner for Thanksgiving, though no one from Sheepshead Bay, 1972. And while I look forward to creating new memories, my sentimentality presses hard against my heart.
Like Tom Joad returning to his home only to find his family gone and the house half covered by the encroaching rows of cotton, each of us this Thanksgiving will find something at home that we did not expect.
I think of my grandmother around Thanksgiving. She was born Uman, Ukraine, in 1900 or so, back when it was Russia. As she cooked for us, she would talk about her life and her journey to the warmer climes of Buffalo, New York.
The parade has been renamed the Hollywood Lane Parade. It's televised. It's in color. It's syndicated. It's not as good. But every so often there's a flash of the parade's past cheesy greatness.
Not being surrounded by too many "familiar" Thanksgiving cues in the culture here in Paris gives me indulgent space to let my memories wash over me and find their bittersweet place in my heart.
