Pass! The Cranberry Sauce! We're Having Mashed Potatoes.

Vignettes from a Family Thanksgiving

Hiiiii! I hope you had a food-filled week.

I am continuing on with the subscription donation project. For November, the organization is the Museum of Chinese in America. Which, yes, is the same one it was for October. I’ve decided each organization is going to get two months now. If you are new here (welcome!) or need a refresher, you can always find more details of the project on my About page. Also, if you want to be a matching donor, let me know.

I have also decided to extend the paid subscription discount offer! Paid subscriptions are 10% off for the whole next year as a celebration for NYC Decade-aversary. If you want to upgrade, now is a great time.

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When you say Thanksgiving, I think Brooklyn.
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My Thanksgiving morning routine is always the same: I wake up whenever and get ready for the day like it’s any other day—I zombie my way through my skincare routine and then read the various daily news newsletters, other newsletters, and poem-a-day newsletters in my inbox. When I turn on the tv, the vibe is Saturday morning cartoons. This year it’s Kim Possible. (Call me, beep me.) I make some breakfast and think through my schedule for the day. 

Then, it is time. It’s time for the annual first viewing of the Barbara Stanwyck delight, Christmas in Connecticut. This movie is from 1945 and therefore has some, you know, issues and it also has many joys. We should all have an Uncle Felix who will teach us to flip pancakes that look a little bit like cement around a piece of cardboard. We should all have a cow that knows exactly when to escape to prevent a marriage. We should all tell our bosses to shut-up and listen now and then so people can tell them things.

I paint my nails through the movie. The colors are brown, orange, and yellow. When I’m done, I realize my nails look like Reese’s Pieces. Accidentally. Or accidentally on purpose. 

Around 130p, I put what needs to go in the oven in the oven. Between finishing the movie and taking food out of the oven, I get ready to go. Around 230p, I am out the door.
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This year, I’m smart. I build in a half hour for my dish to cool down so it doesn’t burn my lap as I make the journey south. 
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Sometimes I forget to breathe when I go up or down the subway stairs.
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Into Brooklyn, the music of choice is the Over the Garden Wall soundtrack. 
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Park Slope is my destination. To get there, I take the Q train. Well, I take the R train to the Q train. But I switch trains as early as possible. The Q train is express. 

After the Canal Street stop, the Q train comes out from underground and crosses the Manhattan Bridge. I’ve always liked it when a train touches the sky for a bit. Watching the stops pass by underground is one thing. You know where you are but you don’t really know, you know? Coming out into the weather reminds you where you are. It’s a collective breath. 

Whenever a train comes outside, my head snaps up and I search for a window to look out of. Hopefully I can find one where I’m not also staring directly into someone’s eyes. 
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If you have read One Last Stop, you’ll know why I get a little jolt of joy every time the Q train crosses the Manhattan Bridge. And yes, I do look around for a hot person in a leather jacket who has obviously been stuck on the train since the 70s. Don’t you?
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Somewhere around 34th Street, a gaggle of people surround me. It seems like they are all related, possibly one whole family. Or maybe a few families all traveling together. There are multiple babies in strollers and a good seven+ children who can, at least, walk. It’s chaos. Children seeing if they can jump just as the train stops. Children basically sitting on top of me. My feet getting pushed by strollers. I do my best to keep my eyes on my phone. I don’t particularly want to move. 

When we come out from underground, I try to find a window and take my breath. There is a window but I cannot find that breath. 
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My time management is on point this year. I leave my house when I plan to. I arrive at my destination when I plan to.
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If there is a room with toys, I will immediately go play with them. Especially if my best friend is also playing in there. 
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Enlist me to thicken and stir the gravy. I am an expert.
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For the last decade, this has been my Thanksgiving. With the exception, of course, of 2020. The locations have changed a few times. And the attendees come and go, increase and decrease. There are people that I have seen relatively consistently at this Thanksgiving over the years whose names I am still not sure of but I am always happy to see. The tradition of being invited to join this day year-after-year by one of my favorite people is probably one of the first things that made New York feel like home. 
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There are six kids under six at this Thanksgiving. And I had a great time. A much better time than being on that train. 
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Sure, change is constant as we get older and our lives and families morph and grow. But one change that is consistent is the food at this thing keeps getting better and better. 
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I usually use Thanksgiving as an opportunity to try baking new things and this year is no exception. The best was a cheesecake, a new recipe sure to become a standard. The other dessert was less my favorite but the filling from that recipe is going to be a great filling for a birthday cake come January. 
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It is certain that I will not even attempt to leave before all the parents. They have so much stuff to contend with! They don’t need to contend with me as well!
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As a kid, I also fell asleep on couches after big meals. 
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I like it so much when someone refers to me as family. It makes me feel like I’m doing something right. 

You don’t get to pick your biological family. Often, you don’t get to pick your immediate family or even your guardians or caretakers. But there’s a reason why there is so much discourse around “chosen family.” It’s something you get to pick. Ultimately, it can look however you want it to. And it’s important. 

It makes me feel so honored to be picked. 
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Carbs are my leftovers of choice. Mashed potatoes (and gravy). Macaroni and Cheese. I refuse to take any dessert. That is my gift for everyone.
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Thanksgiving evenings end earlier now. I’m back in my apartment by 1030p as opposed to just thinking of leaving at 1030p. I don’t mind at all. I am just as full.
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On the way back into Manhattan, I get my view out the window. 

The best part of going over the bridge in the Q train is that, no matter what side of the train you sit on, you see a bridge connecting boroughs. You also see a good portion of the skyline—both Brooklyn and Manhattan—silhouetted by the night sky, reminding you where you are.
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Out of Brooklyn, the music of choice is the A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. 

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This week, it was an off week for paying subscribers and I. If you want to see what happened during an on week, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Remember, for the whole of NYC decade-aversary, paid subscriptions are 10% off.