There are a few days a year when waxing poetic about being thankful is 100% encouraged and applauded. Today is one of those days, so here we are.
This year, we are spending the quintessential American holiday of Thanksgiving snuggled under the throw blankets of my parents’ couch. I grew up in this house, and when I come back, I am grateful for the many of the rituals and traditions of my childhood. Included in this list is my mom’s coffee, which borders on rocket fuel and always gives me a stomach ache. One morning per visit, we will make a big pancake breakfast, and when my sister is visiting from California, she insists that her pancakes be cut up by her parents, just like when she was five. Don’t tell her she’s turning 30 in a few months.
I’m grateful for the city where I grew up, one of those midwestern enclaves where kids walked to school alone and front doors were left unlocked. It’s still like that, as far as I can tell. If I can get a proper cruise around in the old station wagon, I like to point out where all my friends lived, and how this building is where the old Macri’s Deli was, and that thank goodness Kirkwood Ave. still has Greetings and Nick’s. I miss Jiffy Treat.
I’m thankful for our life in London, where we jet set across Europe and live the adventures I’ve only dreamed of. I know it’s a fairy tale, and I make a point to actively appreciate the opportunities that brought us across the pond two years ago. Rather than feeling like my travel dreams are satiated, my dreams of expat living have grown, and the world beckons to be explored more deeply and more fully.
I speak for both of us when I mention that we are so thankful for our pup, Basil, who we lost last week to a long battle with old-age. When Basil came into our lives as a 10-week old puppy in 2005, I literally had no idea what I was getting myself into. It’s probably better that way, because puppy-rearing is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I was a reluctant parent, a role I grew into over the years, and which I cherished until the very end. We are comforted in the fact that Basil was literally the most spoiled dog in the world, and had a lovely last meal of British scones and jam.
Because he is an English gentleman and wouldn’t expect anything less.
As we wrap up the holiday weekend from the comfort of the couch, our gratitude runs strong and we are looking forward to a magical holiday season. Over the next few days we will bask in all that the holidays have to offer, Black Friday shopping, my annual birthday dinner (it’s never too late!), and more of my mom’s coffee rocket fuel.