A Clean Picture; American and Canadian Thanksgiving Compared and The Best Thanksgiving Ever

I stopped by the Trump International Hotel on Thanksgiving Day because I was meeting with Hottie to get personally trained and the Equinox and the hotel are practically next door to one another. CCC was working as usual -he never seems to get a day off. I would quit if I were him but then I would never get to see him. Therefore, I am glad he stays on. Me: I have a picture to show you

CCC. I hope it is a clean picture 

Me: It is. I had just had a bath. So I am nude, but I am clean.

CCC. Thank goodness for that.

There i a new employee at the Trump by the name of Matthew. I told him all about my blog and he said he would read it. Hi Matthew!!  
It was not of course a nude picture of me. It would have to be a selfie and my arms are not that long. It was a picture of me and my hair stylist. I am sporting a styled hair do and wearing one of my new pair of glasses. I sent friend Jennifer the picture and her response was so sweet,

Me: Is she not sweet? Darling girl from China! And those glasses?!??!

Jennifer: Yes, very cute! And the darling girl is too!
I neglected to ask Vicki if I could post her picture on my blog. I will ask her next week when I have my hair cut. We could take another picture taken with another pair of the four pair of glasses bought when I was in California. 
I am happy to report that I had the best Thanksgiving EVER. It was my first Canadian Thanksgiving in fifty years as I moved to the USA in 1967, then went to London in 2014 (with no Thanksgiving). Celebrations the year occurred on two separate days, the Sunday and the Monday. 
I now have a totally different perspective. I see American Thanksgivings as overblown frantic, idealized and not much fun. The gourmet heights to which I lifted myself – once a turkey with miso, wrapped in clay. The recipe from the now defunct Gourmet magazine. In the days of yore (third marriage) I did the centerpiece flower arrangement – spectacular, elaborate and elegant, And those side dishes and the family stuffing!! But all that presentation led to nothing, it was all very flat and it seemed there was nothing to give thanks for. 
My Canadian experience was diametrically opposed. The Sunday gathering consisted of women and children. The children were nestled at their children’s table, one they decorated themselves. Cute beyond belief. Cousin Gail pitched in and made the gravy, a task that I am incapable of performing. The six women ranged in age from twenty to seventy-four. Our hostess was married, her husband was working and he was missed. But none of the rest of us were in ‘relationships’. I am loath to admit this but it was great not having men around. We were relaxed, let our hair down, talked freely of our frustrations with life, laughed at ourselves. We spoke of many things – the working women had meaningful jobs that contributed to society. There was a mother/daughter duo – they were moving to Surrey due to economic necessity and bravely laying down ceramic tile. It was not as easy as promised and a source of great frustration. The food was delicious, simple and well prepared. The hostess brilliantly suggested that we all speak of what we were thankful for. All the women were thankful for their children and their families. I was the last to speak and assumed a deadly serous demeanor. I spoke of choice – I chose not to have children, I choose to be alienated from my ‘nuclear’ family. But I spoke of the joy of being there with them and the delight I have with my replacement family/families. I remember crying but the next day neither cousin Gail nor I could recall what I was crying about. It wasn’t really tears of sorrow but rather tears of emotion (I guess). And the pie, and the whipped cream. Goodie, goodie, goodie! 
The next day at my abode could be determined to be a fiasco but was not. A bunch of rude people did not show up. But instead of being sad, it was so much fun. Rafaeli and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. We laughed, she vacuumed, she taught me the joys and intricacies of Instagram. I fired off an email to a man I know on Instagram. 

Me; (via email) I found Instagram. 

He: I noticed! 

In all fairness to him he did respond to my wild Instagram comments with humor and care.
There is definitely left over turkey but I am fine with it. I will just freeze it and have a very simple American Thanksgiving at the end of November. Leftovers – I am getting back at the USA. 

Pictured is the turkey in all of its splendor. (All this and I can cook too). Also the flowers Rafaeli brought and a picture of the two of us. As I occasionally say: So there! So there! So there! 

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