Well, it's Thanksgiving. Which means a lot of things, mostly that I'm full. Which is a little disappointing, because it didn't take all that much. I feel like, back in the day, I used to really be able to pack it in. And my family being who were are, what we had wasn't the traditional American Thanksgiving meal. I mean, of course, we had turkey and stuffing (cosmopolitan and enlightened sensibilities notwithstanding, it's turkey, stuffing, cranberry and yams that make a Thanksgiving dinner). But you'd also find lasagna, sausage and meatballs, and my mother was feeling particularly energetic that holiday, scungilli and pasta in a diavolo sauce. So while I really only had one serving, it would be one serving of three or four different dinners (post-prandial naps in my house weren't due to the tryptophan levels in the turkey as often as insulin shock). But today, not so much. Which isn't to say that it wasn't wonderful, it just wasn't as hedonistic as it was in years past.

When lamenting to my father about this very thing, he reminded me that it seemed to be the way of the world. Told me about when the holidays were always held at my grandmother's (Suzie, or Assunta) house. Turns out that these holidays were positively Roman in their levels of gustatorial hedonism (literally - my mother's side of the family are Italian). Meals would start at around 1PM, maybe some salad (for some definition of salad. More like antipasto, which [as per my families recipe] is some lettuce, chunks of mozzarella, slices of provolone, Genoa salami, roasted red peppers, and olives. Arguably some tomatoes and other more vegetable-like ingredients, but they are neither sufficient nor necessary), and some bread. That would last for a little while, and then a break. After that would be a pasta dish (nothing as mundane as spaghetti - that's a side dish. Manicotti, ravioli, something substantive), then a break. Then a meat dish (sausage and peppers, meatballs, some veal) over some pasta, then a break. Then a poultry dish (con pasta, of course), and a break. By the time the family was done eating, it'd have been a nine-hour session, with everyone about 10 lbs heavier than they started. Good times. I remember one or two of these holidays, or at least the shape of them. All of my grandparents died before I really got a chance to know them, unfortunately, but some memories remain. Strangely, they all have to do with food.

Even given the singular theme of the memories, I'm pretty happy to have them. Since they are about food, they are all fairly good ones (even, as is the case with my paternal grandmother, when the food was bad. I have great respect for the memory of my Grandma Myra, but in order for me to say she was a good cook, I'd have to. . . well, I'd have to lie, and I don't think she would want that). And I have far more than I would have thought possible, considering how young I was when they passed. So, I consider myself fairly lucky, all things considered.

Dave (my childhood friend, who currently lives in Seattle) called me the other day. It was his birthday this past week, and I had been trying to get in touch with him for a while, so even though he called after I had gone to bed (and I was psyched to have gotten to bed so early that night), I happily took the call. He and I spoke for a few hours, and we both did some catching up (which we were seriously behind on. He mentioned the name of the last person I had told him about who was involved in my personal life, and I was all "Who?"). And there was some bitching, and complaining, and talking seriously about life, as well as a fair amount of laughing and relating some of the wonderful things that had happened (for instance - he presided over the wedding for two of his best friends out in Seattle, every aspect of which sounded like the best thing I had ever heard). At the end of the conversation, we hung up, and I stayed awake for a little while thinking about how incredibly lucky I was to have a friend like David in my life. To say that he's a special person would be something so far surpassing understatement as to be ridiculous, but were I to try and explain just how very special he is, I'd slip right into gushing, and it wouldn't come across right anyway. Suffice it to say that I heartily endorse him, and would have trouble imagining a world in which he were not a part.

There's something hanging on the refrigerator of my parent's house right now (which is where I'm writing this) requesting that I call up the Mineola courthouse on Friday to see if I have to come in and sit for jury duty the following week. And as much as a pain in my ass as is the potential of missing work, I'm very psyched to do my part to keep the judicial process of this great nation moving along as smoothly as it does. Civil duty, and all. It's important, even as it's annoying, and I'm lucky to live in a nation where that sort of thing is required.

Let's see - did I cover everything? Family, friends, and nation. I think that's all. I mean, those aren't all of the examples of the things I wanted to mention today, but they are representative examples of the things about which I'm thankful. I could go on and write up a great big list, including my mother and father, Allison, Ton, and Ben, the Bill of Rights and a volunteer army whom (and you got to admit this, whether you agree with what they are asked to do or not) every day put themselves directly in the way of danger merely because they are asked to. But the list would end up being long, personal, boring, and invariably incomplete. I'll just go ahead and say that I'm incredibly lucky to have been raised by this family, to have found such friends, and to have been born this nation. I really love all of these things, and I think it's just a great idea that we've put aside a day for the sole purpose of thinking about them, and saying thanks (and, arguably, eating ourselves into a stupor).

And so, from the bottom of my (slightly heart-burned) heart, thanks.