The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Saturday, November 24, 2018

Thanks but no thanks

Long ago in another lifetime, I worked on the Hudson's Thanksgiving Day Parade in Detroit. I often took such gigs to pay for ramen. I hadn't dressed adequately for the cold, and it was all pretty miserable. Got back to my apartment, cold and ready to doze and warm up the rest of the day. Until the guy I'd recently started dating showed up and got pissy that I hadn't planned any thanksgiving feast. Well, thanksgiving was no a holiday for me. I should have dumped him right then. Would have saved a lot of pain. But it was the path toward my life now, long and rocky and painful as it was.

I would still never celebrate thanksgiving until 1990. Even then, it would be mostly the Friday after. It's an observation of gratitude I have warmed up to gradually, with a sidle and a side-eye.

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