Thanks for what?

At one of our first Thanksgivings in Italy, I was trying to explain the actual story behind the holiday  to the Italian friends who had joined us, as the Americans at the table smiled wryly. It’s not such an easy one.

Trying to keep it simple and also justify why there were two wax pilgrim candles at the end of the table, I stuck with the traditional story we were taught as children: pilgrims and Native Americans sitting down to a table together after their first harvest… an act of friendship and trust… amen. Please pass the cranberries.

Our friend Vittorio wasn’t satisfied. “Yes, yes… the giving of thanks, capisco, ”  he said. Then, adding the classic Italian hand gesture that translates as “gimme a break”, he asked:

“But thanks for what?”

I don’t think Vittorio was advocating for ingratitude. But he was noting that a generally thankful attitude without any specifics is a little empty, like the “grazie” I find myself tossing out every time the waiter brings something new to the table. If our gratitude is genuine, we ought to be able to put some specifics to it, right? Thanksgiving indeed. But thanks for what?

This year, Vittorio and I are probably not the only one struggling with that question. In the shadow of the tragedies unfolding in the Middle East and Ukraine, this Thanksgiving holiday is a bit perplexing. How do we count our blessings without ignoring the tally of blights on the other side of the scoreboard?  Before we slice up the turkey, I thought I’d chip in three things to be thankful for, even in a year where the harvest has brought as many troubles as triumphs.   Feel free to throw in a few of your own in the comments. We can use all the wins we can get.

This year, I’m thankful that not all times are like these times.

With due respect to Charles Dickens, we’re not really living in the best or the worst of times. Every morning after slogging through the newspaper,  I try to remind myself that these are not even close to the world’s darkest hours. I don’t usually need to remind myself that they are not among the high points of history either.

But what often gets lost in the grinding gears of the news cycle is that those high points— joyful, exhilarating, liberating moments—do in fact happen. Not often enough certainly. But even in our lifetimes, we’ve seen instances when peace was declared, walls came down, or our better angels carried the day. There are days marked by victory parades and emergency rescues and the discovery of miracle cures. They will happen again.

Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, “Just keep going. No feeling is final”. Peppe, the farmer who is our neighbor in Italy,  would just say “avanti” (we go on). Sometimes the best thing about the time we’re living in is that it’s passing.

I’m thankful for the comfort of traditions.

Those pilgrim candles that I mentioned earlier have been with C & I since our first Thanksgiving together, when we were living in Boston. They’ve brought Thanksgiving to New England, then Manhattan, and finally to Monteleone di Fermo in Italy—  a sort of reverse commute. But suffice to say, they’ve seen more turkeys than a Broadway theatre critic. For us, it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without them.

We bought the pilgrims (at a convenience store I think) for the simple reason that both our grandmothers had the same ones. That’s how holidays work of course. Each family, group of friends, or individual finds the traditions that will define the holiday for them. Whether it’s a specific food or football or Friday morning shopping missions, even in the shakiest years, we find some security by burrowing into our traditions.

At another Thanksgiving dinner in Italy, we had invited our friend Luciano, who was also our plumber.  Just like when he was doing his plumbing work, Luciano arrived 45 minutes late, right as everyone was sitting down to dinner. Strangely, he was carrying two salamis in a paper bag. Sheepishly, he admitted that he had never eaten turkey before. He thought that just in case he didn’t like it, he would bring something he knew he would be happy with.

I couldn’t really blame him. After all, salamis were his comfort food—a link to festivals, family,  and celebrations of his own. On most days, I’d probably take a salami over a turkey myself. But not on Thanksgiving. Turns out he liked the turkey, and we were gifted with two fine salamis at the close of the meal.

Salami at Thanksgiving? Just when we thought it was safe….

I’m thankful that not all our connections are wi-fi ones.

This current trip to Italy did not start well. I arrived at our home in the countryside during a howling whirlwind of a storm that knocked out electricity in several nearby towns. While our lights stayed on, the internet receiver on our roof did not. I was plunged into a metaphorical, if not literal darkness that would last three days, compounded by the almost entire absence of cellular signal around our house. “You are not currently connected” was the only message I received each time I turned on my phone, usually while standing outside in the rain in the middle of the night.

Except that I felt connected. I went to the bar, borrowed the wi-fi and greeted friends from the town as they came and went. I had lunch with our English friends who have a home nearby.  On the third day, our patron saint, Jimmy, who has shepherded us through all manner of disasters in Marche, invited me over to share his signature spaghetti carbonara, the elixir of all evil.

Later that afternoon, I walked up the road to check on Peppe, who just had knee surgery. His daughter was out chasing chickens around the yard. She shared an update on her father, then in our conversation added that she and her sister loved New York, even though they’d never actually visited (which might be the best way to love New York). I started thinking that maybe we’re all more connected than we could ever imagine.

I’m sure that for those of us who celebrate it, this Thanksgiving will be full of Zoom calls, text messages, and probably some “stranded in O’Hare and FaceTime is the best we’re gonna do” moments. I hope it can also include hugs, handshakes, laughter and the need for one more chair at the table. In a divided and dangerous time, we need our real, visceral human connections. Pass the cranberries, please.

One last item for the thank you list:

I’m so thankful for all of you, and your support of Life Lived Italian. The opportunity to have an ongoing conversation with you is a gift that has inspired and engaged me in a way that I didn’t anticipate when I first started this newsletter last spring. Thank you for connecting with Life Lived Italian, and please do share it with anyone you think might enjoy it.

Whether it’s your holiday or not, I wish each of you a great Thanksgiving week with family and friends— and maybe a salami or two as well

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