Thanksgiving

I am a cynic (in case that hasn't become abundantly evident).  Holiday spirit is not so much a part of my emotional fabric-- except I do get a little teary when P-FLAG marches by in the gay pride parade...well, I would, if I ever went to those parades any more, but crowds in NYC in June?  Thanks, no.

And the whole holiday season thing is a bit tainted for me because I also have a little bit of an allergy to organized religion* in any flavor.

And I definitely don't do patriotism*... so that about covers the whole suite of holidays, doesn't it?  Except for Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving should be right up my alley then:  just food, family, friends and a secular raison d'etre that no one can really argue with (except for the oh-so-white-washed history from which the tradition springs:  "Thanks for the corn!  Have some syphillis," sayeth the pilgrim to the Indian.)

But, but, but.  My family never did TG.  No turkey, no bustling kitchen, no football on the TV, no relatives passed out on the couch.  In proper WASP style, we went out to eat, drank too much wine, and put the night on plastic.

So I was probably in my late twenties, if not early thirties, when I experienced my first "traditional" TG at the behest of some ex-- I don't remember the year or the exact circumstances under which I was initiated into the ritual of dried out turkey, chunky mashed potatoes, gluey gravy, and stuffing with the consistency of KwickSet concrete, all consumed to the point of belly pain.  I just know that I was stuck in someone else's house on a cold day that got dark too soon, with the sounds of bored children tormenting each other and football games blaring from the other room.  And no escape.  You can't just duck out for an imagined errand because everything is freaking closed on TG.  And staying in is like pacing the halls of a migraine funhouse.

I am So. Not Into. It.

So I am dreading tomorrow, which we will spend at Speedy's sister's Grouchy's house, even though I have tons to be "thankful" for. (I have a problem with this as well: to whom shall I be thankful?  Citicard for the successful cycle?  CCB for the sperm?  'Cause really it was just me, Speedy, enough money and easy credit, and plain dumb luck that got us here.)

I am dreading the inevitable stress and claustrophobia of spending the entire day in someone else's home, of bringing too much or too little in the way of our own offerings, of being left out of conversations and of intentionally keeping out of arguments.  Of being gigantically pregnant and not having the option of another glass of wine.  Of being bored yet anxious, and strangely hungry yet glutted, the way only a vegetarian can be at a carnivore's TG dinner.

But I am grateful for this blogging community, because it has made this process so much more supported and enriched than it otherwise would have been.  I could have spent $1000's at Borders and not gotten the wealth of information and candor that I have gotten from these blogs, and to the ladies who write them, I am thankful.  Uncynically, unironically, just thankful.  So thank you, ladies.  You rock!


*I feel the need  to qualify these statements with the fact that I have religious and patriotic-- even military-- friends (is that like a homophobe saying they have gay friends?) I just am not down with the institution of religion/patriotism.   Ultimately, I think they both lead to too much damn bloodshed on intellectually questionable grounds.