Thanksgiving

It actually started the night before, when I set myself to try and make for the first time ever the stuffing we always have at Grandma's every Christmas. Three hours of fine chopping and four international phonecalls later, I realize that the bottle of cooking wine never made it into the stuffing. The oven hasn't looked scarier in my life. Coordination and balance are important when handling hot and delicate stuff. Oh well. Thursday started earlier than I would've had it. At seven thirty I'm strongly -but sweetly- advised to get up and ready up to go see the Macy's Thangsgiving Parade. "It is important to get there early and find a good spot". At quarter to nine a very grumpy Mexican wearing last-minute braids stands all bundled up waiting for the B-or-D train. El güero is kind of annoyed that we're late and will we miss something important now? So much for the holidays, I think at Columbus Circle, we have to change trains, and so do about three hundred families made up of bundled, excited children and underslept parents. I shouldn't be saying this, but I catch myself after the words have made it out into the station: "Guess who is it that will be struggling with the strollers and the kids early on weekends to take them to the park and stuff?" He looks down and holds me close as he answers without missing a beat "Shhh, let's keep it quiet children, Mommy cooked again and she forgot to add the wine to the food..." The moodiness is fading away. By the time we are on 72nd and I get the first glimpse of a king-size Big Bird the crankyness is nowhere in sight. I hop up and down just like the rest of the short people around us. We find a good spot, hurry hon, this way, did you see that? Who is that? What do you mean who is that? We don't have that in Denmark. Is it because it might hurt Hans Christian Andersen's stories and the national spirit? Very funny. A couple of hours later I am rewarded with a bagel and a hot chocolate before we head back downtown to my kitchen. He promises he'll come back soon and be my kitchen slave. The flatmate knew better than to stick around and is nowhere in sight. I understand he was summoned by Miss Colombia to go help make dessert. I look at the bird which should be thawed by now. Oh man.
(to be continued...)