Thanksgiving Revisited

Like most Americans, expats included, I celebrated Thanksgiving last week. Except, I almost didn't. The irony is that in America, I wouldn't have celebrated Thanksgiving at all. And yet I did here, albeit after a few days of deliberating on the decision. My decision to celebrate this year marked a change in tradition - a conscious decision to make something of the holiday. I wasn't sure it would be successful at all: I am living in another country; this holiday is an import, only realized by expats; Cranberries don't exist here. I don't know any expats personally, and so it was up to me to convey the proper spirit -- to make this meal successful. In the end, the day was more difficult than it was festive. I can't say it was a success, but perhaps something has been begun. And what I'm thankful for couldn't be more clearer.

Thursday passed without notice. I told some people at boxing that it was a holiday in the Untied States. They couldn't have cared less, and I don't blame them. What would my reaction have been if someone had come up to me in my gym in Texas and told me "Happy Swiss Independence Day"? I decided to let this holiday go. Then, Friday I received a belated "Happy Turkey Day" from my grandmother, as well as from a friend of Jon's who speaks halting English. Clearly the spirit was out there. Jon had just told me we'd be having his aunt and grandmother for dinner on Sunday, and I found myself asking if we could turn the dinner into a Thanksgiving meal. He was keen on the idea and suddenly I was giddy about it.The idea of celebrating this holiday meant some unexpected cheer in a long stretch of cold and foggy days. Halloween didn't happen here, and Christmas wasn't for a month...the last holiday we had, I realized, was in fact Swiss Independence Day. So that was one motivating factor. But also, there was a deeper meaning. It felt almost like a challenge - to make something of the holiday that I usually shun.

Sometime after my thirteenth birthday, my family --meaning my mother, brother and I, officially and collectively canceled Thanksgiving. I believe it was my mother's idea to begin with -- she was understandably bored with the idea of slaving in the kitchen for just the three of us, to have to throw most of it away when our picky teenage appetites disagreed with every item on the table, and our pesky teenage attitudes made a point in saying so. I was only too happy with the idea that we chuck the holiday and instead indulge in a family sized Taco Bell dinner and a few good DVD's. And paper plates.

My reasoning was my aversion to the hypocrisy of the holiday. I had major issues with the history of Native Americans in our country, who we European rooted individuals owe our livelihood to, and the way that all of this got forgotten in the gluttonous meal and the mad rush to the shopping mall. Even today I have problems with the holiday. An article in USA Today a week ago reassured me that I was happier to be away from all the hype. It said that this year some stores opened on Thanksgiving day, in order to give "an even bigger head start" on Christmas shopping. This news reeks of what Europe dislikes about America, what I dislike, perhaps what many Americans even dislike: unbridled excess and consumerism. According to the article, in response to the "ho hum" results stemming from opening the stores even earlier, Michael Niemira, International Council of Shopping Centers' chief economist said, "I just don't know whether this is the kind of strategy that makes for a good holiday season." His words are all too genuine -- this is exactly what the holiday season is about: ho ho ho sales. And it isn't just in America. "The big crowds and the discounts of 50% and 60% have even caught the attention of foreign tourists, who in the past two years made trips specifically to partake in Black Friday shopping. They all want to be part of the American shopping experience," said Michele Rothstein" Just out of curiosity I clinked on a related link, concerning the history of Thanksgiving - even worse. I discovered how FDR had actually changed the date of the holiday, from the fourth Thursday to the third Thursday, to increase the number of shopping days. All of it backed up how I'd always felt. A holiday that basically marks the start of Christmas shopping, the holiday to thank a culture of people who were subsequently eradicated, and whose date is malleable depending on the state of Christmas sales. There wasn't much motivation to celebrate.

So I completely shocked myself with my request this weekend. I even got in the mood. I made cute shapes out of orange napkins, and I even found Cranberries, though I didn't buy them (5 bucks for 200g?!). Jon insisted that we have a Goose as the bird, instead of a turkey. I was rather disappointed, honestly, but I tried to take that in stride and instead ran around yelling "C'est un scandal!" in my best French accent while he cooked.

As I set the table my thoughts began to drift. I tried to think of what had made my heart change about the holiday. I suppose that the first six months here were a "trial." But I've hit that six month mark and my permanency here begins to appear more concrete. I start to believe that I live here, and though the words "for good" may never enter my vocabulary anywhere, I can at least say I'm staying. So then I start to go through a few questions: What part of my culture is missing here that I'm glad to lose, and that I want to hang on to. And incredibly, my least favorite holiday was something I wanted to hang on to. Actually, I wanted to transform it. If I am going to be here, where the holiday doesn't even exist, perhaps there's an opportunity to start it over from scratch.

Jon's grandmother and aunt played guinea pig to our meal. We ate at 2 pm, a little early. They wanted snacks with their aperatif, and I warned them against it. I did not like the goose at all. The meat was different, and the taste wasn't quite the same; I couldn't imagine left-over goose sandwiches for the next few days. But the house smelled like Thanksgiving. We gobbled up the Sweet Potato Casserole, which none of them had ever had. His grandmother seemed to enjoy it, and that meant a lot to me, even if there were some skeptical stares at the fork before she finally took a first bite. I especially like his aunt because she has a viscious sweet tooth. We don't speak the same language, in theory, but we bond over dessert. It was with a secret joy that I introduced her to cream cheese frosting, which I'd smothered my carrot cake with.

After dinner there was no football. No one moved to the couch. I ached a little inside. Okay, a lot. Actually, it was very painful to do the dishes, and then sit down to a quiet evening, with no football, no leftover pie and no family spending the night. We did take them on a short tour of the village, and stopped in our favorite tea-room for a late afternoon coffee. The weather was cozy and I carried my coat in my hands. But then they left, and that was it. They hadn't really gotten it. It turned out to be Thanksgiving in my mind only, and a nice Sunday dinner for the rest. I even forgot to say what I was thankful for at the table. So I'll do so now:

The future remains unclear. But at present, I have a lot to be thankful for: The safety of my loved ones, the opportunities that keep appearing in my life, a long overdue email from a dear friend, that couldn't have had better timing, and the thought that the only shopping lines I'll have to wade through will be through open air markets, and the annoyance will probably be diminished by eating warm roasted chestnuts as we meaner through the stalls.

So there wasn't much celebrating, or football, or even leftovers. But there wasn't any excess either. And there were moments which I savored, alongside the food, which I am stockpiling, as I rebuild this holiday in my own home. Jonathan said that he rarely saw his grandmother smile so much. Perhaps I brought a little warmth to this "cold" region. And next year, we'll be having a turkey.