Last night I found myself making cornbread (I make really good cornbread) for Sharon to use in her dressing, …and in between checking the stove…I watched An American in Paris. I love watching Gene Kelly dance…well I just like to watch Gene Kelly… be…Gene Kelly. And after studying French for five years I like to pretend I speak the language (and not just read it) by picking up a word here or there. Some might say that life has been really tough on me. Yep, it took many years and many tries to make cornbread as good as my Momma. I remember the many pans of cornmeal that was discarded out the window of my little house in Dallas, Texas after my roommates (southern boys who wanted cornbread at least once a week) declared it unfit for human consumption. I wish Momma was here today to celebrate my place as a “cornmeal champion”. And the truth be told my abilities in the field of foreign language studies were worse than my food preparation flops. I studied hard and learned a few sentences here and there but the first Frenchman I met a few years after graduation convinced me (and the Frenchman) that I would be hard pressed to order a meal or find the restroom if I had to say it “a Francaise”. I have said many times that I should have studied Latin since I have met few Romans soldiers on the streets of my town to show that my Latin was lacking. But alas that was not the case and today I can expertly spout a few French phrases and spell them well enough, … which is my “raison d’etra” (reason to be). But this is not going to turn into a “poor pitiful me” missive about my mislaid plans, my misspent youth or my penchant for misspelled words….Nope, celebrating Thanksgiving a day late due to the scheduling problems of family and the long list of my failures is nothing compared to the days (and nights) spent in a new and hostile land by the first of our ancestors to cross the waters. And by the way, I really don’t care who brought the chip and dip to the first feast,…the truth is that the Pilgrims needed some lessons in “corn planting 101” and the Wampanoag needed someone else willing to trade some good European wools and linens for beaver hide shoes. You see the native peoples came out of the woods speaking English that they had learned trading with the many other visitors to their shores prior to the Thanksgiving tale. So what is my antidote for dragging my failures to the dinner table? Well after spending a few days with family in St. Augustine and hearing a little boy call me “Boompa” I came back home to a little red headed girl who cares little about my past and most about the books I read to her on the couch near the fire. That’s right, family and the warmth and love of those who share your life helps the blackness of the past fade into a light gray shadow that simply “shades” the life I live today…and for that I am truly thankful…or as they say in French, “merci beaucoup” which means thank you very much…or I surrender…? I’ll see y’all on the off ramp.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Nov 2014 13:33:59 +0000
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