When Thanksgiving arrived this year I was suffering from jetlag and a profound desire to be back in Seattle. I felt perplexed and melancholy but cooked for two days and nights.
My son made the cranberry sauce, my daughter the pie crust. The doorbell kept ringing as I basted a turkey so enormous the oven door almost did not close.
Jean didn’t have the address of the party and called my agent, then Rachel in Canada, finally fetching up at Bacchanalia, where the proprietor kindly directed him to the correct door. Expeditions were mounted to collect various other lost guests.
Iain, Xtina, Susan, and Amanda all came from London. The usual crew of Cambridge people descended, some with brand new small children to admire. Sally brought flowers. Karen brought sake. Don appeared with whiskey. Others brought copious amounts of wine.
My daughter delivered a ringing monologue about sex education ending with the proclamation that she has no plans to participate in such activities. Later she gleefully discussed her opinions and concerns around dating with a crew of sarcastic grown-ups – an interrogation that no other teen of my acquaintance would survive, let alone enjoy. Yet she revels in the attention.
Those of us who feel that Cambridge does not meet our social needs chatted about the subject. Don objected when I said that this city isn’t worth the investment of my time – even though he was the most outspoken about the fact that I would not find the place congenial.
I served a feast to more than thirty people I sincerely like, then ran out to deliver a piece of pie to the fellow at Bacchanlia. My friends sat around talking and drinking for hours.
In the middle of one of my anecdotes I described what I was wearing in 1990, including the slogan on my favorite shirt. Josh recognized the phrase and interrupted to ask Why were you wearing a 101st Airborne shirt? With the emphasis on you.
He was quite surprised to learn that I was a teenage Army bride.
While I was baffled that a member of the East London Massive has the mottoes of the 101st memorized.
Jean was not successful in coaxing scandalous stories out of me, even though he kept filling my glass with wine.
I was thankful for the usual things – health insurance, family, traveling, the fact that I have good friends and challenging relationships, that I can learn and change and be loved.
I have problems, but they are at least interesting – and that is a fact worth appreciating.
