Americana

I am what I would describe as a "reluctant American". My birthday is Columbus Day and that galls me. For as long as I can remember, most of my friends (and lovers) have been from different countries, or first-generation immigrants. I have never liked fourth of July and all its jingoistic connotations nor have I felt that this country is chosen by the god I don't believe in to be extra-special. I don't think being American earns you any special rights and privileges and until very recently, was reluctant to confess my country of origin when traveling (There. I have baited the flame throwers. Come get me.)

It should come as no surprise that this atheist anti-nationalist vegetarian views Thanksgiving somewhat askance. My family never did more to acknowledge "The Day After Wednesday" as one blogger so eloquently put it, than reserve a table at the only open restaurant in town.

How fitting it is, then, that I have had all of my "real" Thanksgivings with the immigrant families of my lesbian lovers. First, Ex, whose parents are from Guyana, introduced me to the gluttonizing, football-watching claustrophobic agony of "real" Thanksgivings, and, more recently, Speedy and the Polish immigrant father and Korean immigrant mother and her sister, brother-in-law and three nephews. Strangely, while kim chee was present, the turkey still played the starring role. But the schmaltz was notably absent. After Mother-in-law got up to her elbows in the bird, extracting every last piece of edible meat, sister-in-law plunked it on the table and said, "So, go!" and with that the meal was begun. 15 minutes later, it was over. But the day-- almost in entirety, was pretty effin' amazing. First, nobody cried. Second, not many people yelled, at least not too much, and third, I was struck again and again that despite the HIGH levels of dysfunction I know too much about in the family, everyone was genuinely enjoying themselves and each other and the day was filled with love. Some of it was wrapped in razor wire and passive-aggressive jibes, but it was, nonetheless, love.


Yesterday was my first "real" Thanksgiving that I actually enjoyed.

Today we actually went to Macy's (THE Macy's at Herald Square) Black Friday at 5 a.m. It was fun in that I-never-have-to-do-that-again kind of way. We went as kind of a lark, and because last week, Speedy actually uttered the phrase "Sweetie, where is our sweater?" As in, we had ONE sweater, which we shared. So we went with a plan of action, a prioritized list and a budget. The good news: we now have more than one sweater, and I now have a winter coat suitable for the office (as opposed to the one I have been wearing, which was originally purchased in 1998 for a trek in Nepal.) And we have a new set of sheets so we don't have to keep the same-day washing and drying thing we had to with with the single set we had. We almost stayed within our budget and saved more than we spent, which made me feel really good, even at 7 a.m. when we finally walked out, laden with our goody bags.