Harvesting Love

The risk it takes to remain tight inside the bud is more painful than the risk it takes to blossom. —Anais Nin.

Do you do the post-holiday boozin'?

This evening I served a friendly, but wiped-looking couple. After a couple of drinks and some appetizers, with me, they shared the source of their worn eyes. They'd hosted Thanksgiving dinner for their grown children, and their grandchildren, earlier in the evening. They showed up in my section ready for 'Us Time'.

Half an hour later another couple came through the front door looking equally exhausted.

"Wow, you guys look tired," I greeted them.
"Yah, Thanksgiving dinner," Mr. Customer responded with a grin.
"Ah, belly-tired, or done-with-the-family-we're-ready-for-a-drink tired?"
"Done with the family," his sleepy grin widened.

'Tis the season - Canadian Thanksgiving that is. Canadians apparently celebrate a successful harvest, whereas American Thanksgiving is acknowledged to remember the Pilgrims and the 'settlement' of the 'New World'.

The most memorable Thanksgiving feast that I shared was the autumn that I had roommates. I gave thanks to my friends; we gave thanks for each other.

I've only once in my life shared my living space with roommates. At the time I was working in a wee coffee shop earning server's wage, which was a whopping $5.95/hr. (if I remember correctly), and pulling in a monster $15-$30/shift in tips. Rental of a one bedroom apartment, plus hydro, was beyond my means.

Sitting at Pogo's one evening bemoaning my situation over drinks, which I really couldn't afford, I ran into a friend that I've known since high-school. He, as well, was burying his woes in the bottom of a pint (I think alcohol is like oil; it settles on top and funks up your belly). He was about to loose the waterside duplex he'd been renting for three years because his roommates were moving out; I was about to loose my pricey shoe-box of an apartment. He needed a roommate; I needed somewhere to live. Ta-Da.

A month and a half later I moved into that sweet duplex on Riverside Drive. Eventually, to me,

my roommates became Fish One and Fish Two (an amalgamation Dr. Suess'
Thing One & Thing Two, and One Fish, Two Fish; Red fish, Blue fish).

Both Fish worked multiple service sector jobs; Fish Two was also studying at Windsor. Other than passing in and out on our way to various commitments, we didn't see much of each other.

Until...

My Fish, Myself, and Orangina (a best friend on her way to Nelson, B.C. two days from our Thanksgiving) celebrated Thanksgiving three weeks after the fact because it was the first opportunity we had to spend all together; all at once. About 8:30pm Fish Two pulled his Tofurky feast, complete with tempeh drumsticks, out of the freezer and got down to it. Three hours later, a bit gleeful on some red wine, we loaded our vegetarian-friendly plates and settled in to watch
"A Life Less Ordinary."
[Disclaimer: If you've not seen the movie, link may be a scene/finale spoiler]
Dang super movie; if you've not seen it you should. I think so at least.

When I say "loaded," I mean loaded. Brown sugar, buttered yams; green beans, with almond slivers; stuffing; scones made from scratch, and baked fresh; tempeh (so good); tofurkey, and cranberry sauce; mashed potatoes with garlic, and gravy. Loaded. I probably cannot do justice to the contentment that filled our living room (Candlelight was involved, if that helps).

I love my family so much. My family loves me. A lot. But they've never quite understood my decision to become vegetarian, and they certainly don't know how the hell to feed me at gatherings. My mom has been making a greater and greater effort over the years; I adore her all the more for it, but broccoli and potatoes a meal does not make.

The Riverside feast was the first time, post-veg-head, that I shared a holiday meal in which I could partake in everything on the menu. And, I love my friends. It was the perfect giving of thanks.

My point? Do not succumb to superficial, socially prescribed 'rules'. Do not exhaust yourself over a holiday. Love 'em up. Love 'em by how YOU define love.

Whether you celebrate on Monday, or a month from Monday, give thanks to the people that you share your meal with.

Happy Thanksgiving (and Happy Birthday, to me - that's kinda self-absorbed, but whatever, it's my birthday).

Harvest some love however you may see fit.