Today I put out my Thanksgiving decorations. There’s the little turkey wearing a sign that says eat beef. The tin bucket thingie that says give thanks and, of course, the glass turkey candy dish. Kaitlyn and I made a turkey out of construction paper, which she painted. It is lovely.
I am not really sure why I felt such a burning desire to display my dinde doo-dads. (note: dinde is turkey in French. Something I wish I’d known the other day at… yes, Carrefour… when I kept seeing poultry labeled dinde but I was too afraid to buy it because there was no picture. Duh, like how many kinds of poultry are there other than chicken which I know is poulet, duck which I know is canard and TURKEY? DUH)
Anyway, I have now seasoned my home with a taste of Thanksgiving… a holiday I had to explain to my French teacher. Before I moved, someone pointed out my near obsession with being able to obtain Thanksgiving food here. (I even had read that there is a store in Paris where one can buy American food. The name? Thanksgiving, of course. A Google search shows it is true.) I explained it away, saying I just love the foods served at the traditional gorging. True enough. I do. I could eat them all the time. But that isn’t really why I have latched onto the holiday this year. Suddenly, I feel some need to really think about what it is that I am thankful for.
Ok. Let’s think about it.
My husband. He doesn’t always listen but he’s always, ALWAYS there for me.
My daughter. See above note about husband, it pretty much applies here.
My family.
My friends. I found out when I left North Carolina just how many friends I’d really made.
My French-English dictionary.