Thanksgiving in South America
…Isn’t celebrated in any formal way that I’m aware of.
So today I had the fun of more or less creating my own experience of the holiday, and the gratitude and thanks giving that it stands to evoke. While walking along the boulevard and just ending another Spanish audio lesson re-run, my iPod jumped to the Office Space soundtrack classic, “Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangster”. (There are times when I swear the people at Apple programmed magical clairvoyance into the shuffle mode, and this was one such time.) Grinning broadly while soaking in the lyrics, I walked no doubt with that very walk that is described by others from time to time as that bouncy, long-gaited strut.
In the midst of my current life adventure it is easier than usual to recognize the many things these days to be thankful for, and the many people who have contributed to me and for whom I have gratitude. The list of people to whom I’m sending this email overlaps quite well with the list of people I thank, so you probably know what I’m talking about when I say right here and now: Thank you for the part you play in my life and the contribution you are and/or have been to me. (And if you don’t know what I’m talking about as it relates to you, please bust me on that and I’ll express more clearly to you my due appreciation!).
I’d also like to make a special shout out to all of you who are my teachers in life, namely for schooling me on subjects which include (but are not limited to) the following: math, business, dance, communication, being, science, music, poetry, computers, life, love, relationships, growing old, being happy, beers, design, being young, enlightenment, Spanish, programming, education, cooking and Aikedo.
Right then, with thanks now given, allow me to proceed to more centrally Argentine missives!
So my mom came to visit! Between taking the city tour bus, hitting a handful of museums, and relating to the Lonely Planet city guide as benevolent gospel for a week, I am now finally tourist-trained in this town. There were some good moments of being mothered, too: one morning while it was raining my mom sold me on wearing a poncho. I resisted at first (my choice line of vintage middle-school regression being “But moooooooom… the Portenoyos are gonna laugh at meeee…” “No they’re not. They’re going to offer to buy it off of you.”) but eventually went with it for the novelty value. Good idea, too! I didn’t get any purchase offers, but while comfortable in the otherwise abandoned plaza in the downpour I took advantage of the most acoustic privacy I’ve had since my arrival by singing out a few crooner tunes to no one but the trees.
My mom also took care of me when I got wickedly sick on Saturday night. She even ventured out alone on little missions to get me food, drug and drink when I needed it during Sunday and Monday’s recovery. All without any Spanish, which was way cool and even more appreciated. Thanks mom!
Now I’ve been catching up on things and otherwise kinda biding my time until Tracy gets here (inlikeahundredandtenhoursbutwho’scounting). Maybe I’ll go to another tango milonga in the next few days. The Argentine are, on the whole, an uncommonly good looking people. At a milonga you get like a dose of concentrated Argentine hotness, so it’s not a bad way to spend an evening even if you are remiss about your own dance ability and feel it better to just sit and watch.
Ah, in case you were wondering what I had for my Thanksgiving meal: some fab sushi from the elegant sit down restaurant perched in the Japanese gardens, a street side vendor hot dog with the works, a chocolate ice cream cone in the plaza, and I’ll probably make up that chunk of tenderloin I got from Roberto just now. It’s no turkey with gravy, but I can’t complain. :)
With all my thanks and gratitude on this fine southern hemispheric day,
John