thanksgiving, i think of grandpas, grandpa, the last time we all sat together and ate was at that place, that restaurant, i remember it was remarkable, it was the first time Jane didn't cook, the first time we weren't all gathered together there in montgomery, in grandpa's house, the house in front of the hill of slate, the hill of wasps and their hidden nests, the quiet little house where at the end, the leaves piled up and nobody cleared them away, where we could all take our turns hovering over the yellowed pictures from the 1970s, fotos of me on the tractor fotos of josh with long, curly hair, fotos of grandpa as a young, grinning man, fotos of everyone at some ridiculous age, in ridiculous clothes, with some beautiful glow on their faces, faces from the past, faces from my mother's side of the family, at grandpas where we would laugh and argue and eat pearl onions and peas and cranberry sauce and turkey and yams and stuffing and later drink scotch and coffee and desert, of course someone would hop up on the organ and make repetitive and corny sounds but it was still a good time, we all get fatter but basically stay the same, that's what's comforting about family, that they are predictable, or at least they are until they are gone. somehow i ended out here on the west coast again, my grandfather is dead, i don't believe in thanksgiving, i don't believe in mass production the turkeys-in-bags, and Jane is now trying to ignore grandpa's last wishes of what he wanted to leave for his daughters.
food, drink, and an attempt to be thankful for what is in my life. that i can do! why not. why not every day. that's what i say. let there be love. and and bread. and meat. and wine. and scotch. and for now, that'll do and i'll call it happiness. mazeltov, grandpa. enjoy the new digs. this place is still fuckin nuts.
Nezua Limón Xolagrafik-Jonez blogs as The Unapologetic Mexican and wishes the genrul's cruew nuthin but love. Bird and love. Bird and love and scotch. Crossposted at The Unapologetic Mexican.