Living the Dream

Over the last day or so, I've realized that I've been living out a fantasy of mine. (OK, so three fantasies: the first two being living and working in China and teaching the most amazing, thoughtful, kind, and studious group of children imaginable.) But no, I'm not talking about such mundane fantasies. Nope. I'm taking about the elusive Thanksgiving Fantasy.

"Huh?" I hear you say.

I love Thanksgiving. Love. It. It is about giving thanks for, well, everything, spending time with friends and family, and eating. A lot. Of good food. Those are all things that I whole-heartedly support. The thing is, I really love my Thanksgiving food. Some of you have been kind enough to indulge my tendency to take over and have let me do many things my way (and for that I am forever thankful). But generally, I find myself tagging along at someone else's feast and silently (and secretly) wishing I could just do it all my way, for once. 

Please, do not misinterpret. I have loved every single Thanksgiving I've been to. I remember them fondly along with friends, friends of friends, parents of friends, family, and strangers. I've loved the ones with copious alcohol and the ones without. I've loved the quiet family gatherings and the scores of people overflowing through every room. I've loved them when I'm new in town and know no one and I've loved them when I'm established and know everyone. I love Trivial Pursuit and sometimes even Cranium. Like I said, I love Thanksgiving.

But secretly, in my heart of hearts, I've wanted to host my own Thanksgiving. I've wanted to invite you all to my house and do it up the way you have all taught me to over the years. There would be some things from childhood Thanksgivings, things from Southern Thanksgivings, things from the Northwest. There would be all the bits and pieces I have collected and treasured and wished I could put together into one glorious whole.

The thing is, you aren't allowed to host Thanksgiving without a family. Not really. People with houses and children and real jobs invite you to their house to experience the joy of families. Those of us who are happily single, financially sketchy (God bless divorce and unemployment and student loans and teacher salaries), and habitually wandering just don't have the resources to invite the rest of you over. And realistically, it means you would have to drag your kids and all their stuff all over the globe (or country) on the most traveled holiday of the year. That's not fair of me to ask you to do. I don't have a house big enough (I don't have a house). And it's just easier for me. So I don't even put you in that position. (But sometimes, when I consider whether I want to even think of marriage, the fantasy of Thanksgiving with you all at MY place is very, very alluring.) 

However, I suddenly find myself surrounded by people who also don't have families. They also don't have houses or china sets or tricked-out kitchens. They all live no more than a (long) subway ride away. And most of them don't know a darned thing about Thanksgiving.

I get to school them. The way I want it to be. Thanksgiving in all my — um, er, its glory.

Now, it's not Thanksgiving at home. I can't get everything exactly how I want it. I can't get every perfect ingredient. I don't have every tool I need (*coughovencough* *coughKitchenAidcough*). But I can come pretty damn close, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to go down trying.

And (like you all do) they are supporting me whole-heartedly. I have infused them with my Thanksgiving spirit and I'm having to turn them away for lack of anything for them to do. Granted, I've pawned off the cooking of the turkey -- but only because Nigel offered. (He's got a real, albeit small, oven.) I dressed and trussed the bird and have given him directions (that I fully expect he'll mostly ignore). Jon procured the turkey to begin with. Andy said he'd rouse the boys in the morning to collect tables and chairs from all the apartments so we all have a place to sit. Catherine and Caroline have been offering up shopping (and chopping) services. Aaron is finding me Christmas movies. 

Maybe it won't be Martha-Stewart fantasy perfect, but when are fantasies ever perfect? At the end of the day (quite literally), I'll have everyone over to my house. Most of the foods will be cooked to my specifications (cornbread in the stuffing, cranberry sauce in the shape of a can, cucumbers and onions, cheese in the mashed potatoes, homemade green bean "casserole") and peas and carrots for my Canadian. I'll make my own pie crust and there will be a hint of citrus in the pecan pie.

And while it won't be "perfect" because all the rest of you are back in the States (having already eaten your turkey while I am typing this), it will be me and my newest best 14 friends with lots of great food and bottles of (probably bad) wine. 

I am living the dream.