The office environment remains relaxed as the best holiday, ever, nears. It's that time again. Snow is on the ground in the Twin Cities, temperatures have dropped to below freezing and people are preparing to gorge themselves on extremely fattening foods and fall asleep wherever they lay their heads. I am missing one day of work to fly back home to New York and I'm ecstatic. I will probably end up working on a project for the website on Salgado Maranhão's poetry collection, Blood of the Sun, while I'm at home but that's preferable to writing a midterm paper on constructions of race in Othello.
My parents and I are hosting Thanksgiving dinner for the first time in my memory. Because of my slightly compulsive nature, I assigned us all different tasks months ago. I will be in charge of everything sweet, essentially dessert and cranberry sauce. I have tried out different pumpkin recipes, a vegan pumpkin cheesecake (no one guessed it lacked dairy) and vegan crustless pumpkin pie (a total fiasco), to name two. Thursday will be the moment of truth, can us amateurs pull this whole Thanksgiving thing off?
Every year since my childhood we went to my aunt's house on Turkey day. She lived only about an hour outside of New York City. It was more than worth it to have her husband's chestnut stuffing and her famous (crusted) pumpkin pie. Last summer she and her family moved to Santa Fe. This was devastating for my parents and I, not just because of the absence of her Thanksgiving feast, of course. However, we have managed to procure her family recipes and hope to replicate them as closely as possible. I've found that Turkey day doesn't feel quite right if you're not eating the same kinds of foods that you have for years. Tradition is paramount.
I don't usually think about giving thanks for anything other than the outstanding fact that a holiday centered purely around food exists, but this year I'm going to try a little harder. I want to give thanks for something slightly unconventional, but something that is an integral part of my life. I want to give thanks for writing. For the books I have read this year that have changed my life (I'm looking at you, Lolita, probably the best novel I've ever read), for the writing I have been inspired to do and for the hilariously bad manuscripts that have cheered me up when I'm having a rough day.
Writing is something I can't fathom living without and it's something that in our westernized society we often take for granted. Just stop and think for a moment about what your life would be like if T.V. and movies were the only forms of entertainment, if there was nothing to read or worth reading, for that matter. Copy in magazines and newspapers is shrinking by the second and the most popular books are about teenage vampires. Let's take a moment to appreciate the exceptional literature, journalistic writing and poetry that adds depth, substance and beauty to our lives. And if you must read "Twighlight," at least also devote some time to a Nabokov novel . Alright, now can you pass the mashed potatoes, please?
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