Ah, Thanksgiving. Ostensibly the purest and most American of holidays. Why is it that it turns us all into frenzied crazy people? Does Thanksgiving simply bring out the Ugliest American in us all?
In the days approaching this fourth Thursday in November, people all over the US can be found flitting about, procuring provisions for ingestion and imbibement.
It's a concentrated madness. The craziness of Thanksgiving is not spread out over say, the week that spans Hannukah or Christmas/New Year's. It's not experienced in the same relaxed way of summer as that of the other, arguably most American of all holidays, The Fourth of July.
No, Thanksgiving is not conveniently located on our calendars. It happens at the end of November. November is the month where, in Rhode Island anyway, it always seems that the weather changes abruptly from balmy and autumnal to harsh, cold, wet, and windy - wintry.
Before we can enjoy T-day, so much must be forced into line. There are exams to be passed at school; dinners to be planned, shopped for and prepared; grudges to be set aside; plans to be made on how to commence preparation for the advent of the December holidays, in all their materialistic glory. (Oh, and don't forget about the valium to be swallowed, the bourbon to be drunk.)
And that's part of the problem, no? As Andy Rooney pointed out Sunday night, Thanksgiving is too darn close to Christmas.
I mean, I'm still stuck at the beach. It's the last week of August in my heart right now.
Admittedly, I have trouble moving on in life. But why is Halloween through New Year's always such a landslide? I've been on this planet for close to 35 years, you'd think I would have caught on by now. You'd think I'd be able to successfully brace myself, protect my psyche from the way time passes us by. On the contrary - each year finds me closer to unravelling completely into nothing but a threadbare spool of what Steph used to be. Amen and pass the vitamin H.
Thanksgiving is also so laden, weighed down with tradition. This is a good thing, inherently, but in practical terms it all adds up to a lot of pressure. How can your dinner live up to that of those who cooked before you? Will your parents be happy the first year you cook, or will they compare your dried out turkey with the idealistic turkeys of their youth? It doesn't help that the airways are infiltrated with a zillion recipes and cooks these days either. And Rachael Ray's mug on my Wheat Thins just makes my skin crawl, even though I really like The Rache. Let's just order a pizza already. Believe me, it's an idea that's been put on the table.
Alas, this year I'm cooking, as faithful readers of my blog already know. (Do I have any faithful readers? Any readers at all? I know what my cluster map tells me, but I'm not sure I believe that I'm really that big in India and Spain...)
An abbreviated feast, for the Dinnerman and Kenny. Dr. Dinnerman has to work, else we'd be with his family.
I know the meal I will make will be good - superlative, even. But it won't be the same as what we've grown accustomed to. And Oh My God, that's what Thanksgiving is all about.
Enjoy yours, in whatever way it happens for you this year.
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