It’s that time of year again – time to stuff and get stuffed. Time to get with relatives you love and hate and time to eat food you love and hate. (I love mashed potatoes with gravy – I loathe yams with melted marshmallows on them. I find that dish revolting. Make up your mind - are you going to eat a vegetable or candy?)
Do you remember exactly why Thanksgiving Day exists? Contrary to popular belief, it’s not for a day to unendingly camp out in front of the widescreen and veg out on football. Nor again, is it a day licensed to stuff oneself to the point of combustion similar to the scene in Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life when Mr. Creosote (Terry Jones) is persuaded, after an epic display of gluttony to just eat “one thin mint” more and then - KABLOOEY!
Why We Have Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving was first celebrated in 1621 to honor the harvest the Massachusetts Plymouth Colony enjoyed after a cold harsh winter. And believe me, I grew up in Massachusetts and those winters are brutal. “Cold” and “harsh” was on a nice day. Mass is no place for pu— er, wusses.
I repeat, the time was 1621 - we’re talking living with no electricity, deep-fry turkey machines, mani-pedis or cable. Say whaaaat? Yes, there existed a time of struggle where people were actually obsessed with survival and freedom instead of Kim Kardashians deformed-looking cartoon ass. I know, it seems unlikely, that such a society or time existed. But there you go. Amazing, right?
Personally, I’m not a fan of the food served on Thanksgiving. Turkey is kinda blah to me and not something I choose to eat or order in a restaurant any other time of year – except maybe the occasional turkey sandwich for lunch when I’m at a loss for anything else (Cheezits notwithstanding). In fact, I know a few people that nix turkey altogether and have some sort of beef or even fish on Thanksgiving. And cranberry sauce? Unless you bury that bad bitch with sugar – it’s practically inedible, cranberries are so tart. Of course, the cranberry’s restorative value is highly commendable if you have a UTI. But I prefer to keep my condiments and medicinal cures separate.
Pumpkin pie is okay, but again, I’d rather a crème brulee or berries with cream. Or a shot of Frangelico.
Change of Scene
Instead of sitting at my computer, I’ve now shifted to a local bar with my girl crew and we’re having a Thanksgiving discussion.
“Well, think about it,” my friend Cici says, “What if the pilgrims had landed in say, Miami, instead of Massachusetts – we’d all be eating Cuban sandwiches and drinking café con leche for Thanksgiving.”
My other friend, Minerva, shoots her a look. “I’m pretty sure you have the time line wrong, “ she says, taking a sip of her drink. “There were no Cubans in Miami in the 1600s, never mind sandwiches, which technically weren’t named sandwiches until the 1700s by John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, who because of his gambling obsession, would not take time out to eat a proper meal and would order his servants to bring him meats between two pieces of bread. Others in his gambling circle began to order “the same as sandwich.”
“Well excuuuuuuuuse me!” Cici says rolling her eyes. “You really shouldn’t drink Minerva, you get too literal. Besides how do you know all that?”
“I’m a walking encyclopedia of miscellaneous information. I can’t help it,” Minerva says, taking another sip of her drink, which ironically, is Wild Turkey. “But you have a point – what if the pilgrims had landed somewhere else beside a place where there were lots of turkeys? Thanksgiving would be totally different. Certain industries or food conglomerates may have never have existed – like the Butterball company. No balls for them. Or Pepperidge Farm bagged stuffing might have only existed in a parallel universe.”
“I love that stuffing,” I say in a low voice. “Sometimes I eat it dry – right out of the bag.” The others shake their heads in shameful agreement.
“Okay but what if the pilgrims would have landed somewhere else” Cici insists. “Like I don’t know, Key West?”
Minerva gives it a moment’s thought. “Then that would be cool. We’d be having Margaritas and Mahi Mahi for Thanksgiving!”
Sounds good to me.
Final Thoughts
I ask the girls what they are thankful for this Thanksgiving.
Cici goes first. “Can we be superficial? Or does it have to be all benevolent love thy neighbor, stop world hunger kind of thing and you’re gonna judge me if I don’t answer like that.”
Grateful is a subject with a wide horizon I tell her. And personal. Go for it.
“Well, in that case, I’m really grateful my doctor hasn’t raised his price on my collagen fillers – because now I think I need two vials instead of one.”
“I didn’t know you got fillers, Ci,” says Minerva genuinely surprised.
“That’s the point,” says Cici.
“And what are you grateful for?” I ask Minerva.
“I’m grateful I can look past peoples’ shallowness and superficiality and realize that there really is a good heart beating underneath.” She gives Cici a wink. Cici gives her the finger.
“What about you?” the girls ask me.
“Hmm. Well, first and foremost, I’m glad I’m U.S. citizen. That I can attend school. My health. Family and friends. And that my ass isn’t as big as Kim Kardashian’s. Although I wouldn’t be dismayed with the size of her bank account. Dang it! I’m grateful for you guys!” I give them each a hug.
“You don’t use our real names in your stories, do you?” asks Cici.
“Especially me,” says Minerva. “Because how many Minervas are there?”
More than you would think I tell her. At least three.
Truthfully, thanksgiving, or just being grateful goes a long way. We forget how much we really have until we stop and think about it. Not everyone in the world is as lucky as we are. You don’t need a turkey to remember that. But maybe some time with friends will have it all come rushing back.
And that’s the View from this Thanks Giving Broad.
Anna Collins is a writer, professional photographer, and videographer. And a runner.
