Tag Archives: Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Book

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We just got back home after another week in Princeton, New Jersey, where our family has been congregating for many years over the holidays. We had a one day layover at Auntie Sissy’s house, where I rediscovered this immortal classic. We had given her this book my now 17-year-old son’s Kindergarten teacher asked him to write to make up for the couple extra days we took off at the beginning of the week…

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My Days Off

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Day 1: Sunday. I took a car to New Jersey. We took Route 81. We got some gas. We had dinner at Applebees. We got balloons. One floated away. We got home late. We went to bed.

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This year we stopped for lunch at Delaware Welcome Center, which didn’t even exist when the book was written. Instead of balloons, my mother got ketchup packets. Twelve of them to be exact.

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Day 2: Monday. I took the New Jersey Transit to New York and took A LOT OF SUBWAYS. We had lunch. We eated pizza. We went to my sister’s doctor appointment. We watched people ice skate.

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This Monday we took the New Jersey Transit to New York. This time we were going for my son’s college tour. We eated pizza.

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Day 3: Tuesday. I played with my little cousins. They are triplets. Julia is their big sister. We’re going to the children’s library in Princeton.

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The triplets aren’t so little anymore.

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We Skyped with Julia, who gave us a tour of her flat in Edinburgh, where she is studying.

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Day 4: Wednesday. I went to the movies with part of my family. Tonight my Auntie Sissy is coming.

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The family has expanded since then…

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Day 5: Thursday. Thanksgiving. There was some smoke and we had to fan it. The smoke comed from the oven. That was our dinner. We made a fake church! We got baptized by Julia and we did stuff in the sanctuary.

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This was our dinner. No smoke comed from the oven this year…

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Day 6: Friday. We drived home and I stopped for lunch.

Walkabout

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We drove up to Arlington to spend Thanksgiving with my parents and my sister.

img_2038Every morning I accompanied the titular mayor of Arlington, aka my mother, on her daily walkabout to greet her subjects and to survey her lands. My father wordlessly walked behind my mother and me as we slowly made our way around the block. Every now and then my mother would use her cane to clear the sidewalk of errant twigs or to nudge newspapers a little closer to the houses to which they had been delivered. As we walked, she would tell me the life history of her peoples in astonishing detail.

“This man is a surveyor,” she said, brandishing her cane towards one of the little brick ranchers. She sighed and continued, “But he’s getting old. His yard used to be really nice when his girlfriend lived here. She’d always be outside weeding or planting flowers…But she left him because he refused to marry her.”

“And these people finally fixed their roof after a tree fell into it…It took them months to fix it and as soon as they did, they sold it and moved to Florida. It was on the market for less than a week and sold for over $700,000.”

“I see these people have weeded their garden. It was such a mess. It looks much better now.”

She stopped to gesture with her cane toward a shrub in front of another house.

“Do you know what that shrub is?” she asked me.

“The one with white flowers that’s right next to that house?”

She nodded.

“I think that’s a camellia.”

“A camellia? Well, it doesn’t have any scent,” she said with a distinct note of disapproval.

“You mean, you walked all the way up to the end of a stranger’s driveway to smell their shrub?” I asked.

“Why not?” she replied with regal nonchalance as she continued to process down the sidewalk.

We moved further along and she said, “There used to be a huge tree right here. They cut it down, which is good, because the branches were hanging right over their roof.” As she spoke, the man whose house we had stopped in front of happened to walk past his storm door. He glanced at my mother and politely waved. Taking this to be a request for an audience, she obligingly turned around and started making her way up his walkway, thereby forcing him to come out of his house to meet her.

“I see you cut down this tree. How much did it cost to do that?”

I turned back to exchange a rueful smile with my father as I was sure he would be writhing in embarrassment, but he had vanished. All I could see were the jet trails he left as he scurried back to his own house without so much as a goodbye.

 

 

Scenes from Thanksgiving

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It’s not easy to gather eighteen people together in one place…

But we managed to do it!

From my 80-year-old dad to my 20-month-old niece…

I’m so thankful that we made it happen this year, especially since those gypsy parents of mine…

announced that they’re moving back to Korea in March for a year…or maybe three.

There was turkey…(thanks, Ina)!

and way too much food in general:

There were outings…(thanks, Auntie Sissy!):

Carter Mountain:

Taste of China:

There were quiet times:

and rowdy times:

There was music:

There was laughter:

And there was love:

Giving Thanks for Crazy, Part III

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I was in my first year at college and things weren’t going so well. I felt like an alien in a land where everyone already seemed to know each other from their days at Groton, Exeter or Andover. This blandly good-looking tribe wore the same uniform with only subtle variations.They would languidly call out to each other by their last names as they regrouped every Wednesday and every weekend to drink themselves blind at the frats.

I was a long way from home: a ten hour drive from Arlington to Hanover, New Hampshire, to be exact. We couldn’t afford a ticket to get me back home for the short Thanksgiving break, especially with the longer Winter break just around the corner. The campus was completely deserted. I was all alone in my big empty dorm, and all alone for my first Thanksgiving away from home.

I thought about that first Thanksgiving as I drove up to Arlington to be with my parents this Tuesday evening. The memory of it made me shake my head as I inched my way up 29 North, which was clogged with all the other weary travelers trying to outrun the 5-8 inch snowfall that was predicted for the next morning. On that Thanksgiving evening many years ago, my parents showed up at my dorm room after hours and hours of driving with my younger brother in tow. If you’ve ever driven along the Northeast corridor around Thanksgiving, you’ll know that a ten hour drive can easily become a twenty hour drive. I was appalled and aghast that they had done this for me, and also – so, so glad. We ordered pizza for our Thanksgiving dinner and ate it off paper plates in my room. It was a feast fit for a king and queen.

As you might expect, no amount of coaxing or pleading could convince them to stay the night. We ate our dinner and they headed off into the snowy night to drive all the way back to Arlington. I know my parents are crazy like I know the earth is round, but I also know that I have been incredibly lucky in my life to have experienced their love. I’m thankful for it every single day. May each and every one of us know that crazy, unreasonable, outrageous love, and may we put it right back out there into the universe.

Happy Thanksgiving to you!

Thanksgiving

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Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving, it was all about this little guy:  my 2 year old nephew we call “Dandelion,” because of the chick fuzz on his head. We don’t get to see him very often as he lives far away, so we go into full-on frenzied paparazzi mode when he visits. All weekend long we openly, shamelessly vied for a word, a glance, or a wave of the hand with every kind of blandishment and bribe we could throw his way. Despite our exertions, he would only bestow his favor upon my daughter and the men in the family. It didn’t stop the rest of us from trying, though…

Here’s Dandelion with his dad, my little brother:

And here he is with his mother:

See the golden glow around her? She is truly as lovely inside as she is on the outside. Sometimes we jokingly ask my brother, “How did YOU, the Prince of Darkness, manage to convince the Sugar Plum Fairy to marry you?” (This may possibly be the reason why he refers to us, his loving sisters, as “the Harpies”). His wife comes from a family of life coaches and counselors who live to communicate and help people find fulfillment and reach their fullest potential. She herself is a life coach, as well as an amazing singer-songwriter. When my taciturn and somewhat misanthropic brother will break his silence to idly muse about, say, his desire to open a zoo, where humans, rather than animals are displayed behind bars, a pained expression will pass over his wife’s face. She’ll say, “Honey, I really think we need to process that.” Whereupon, he will amiably punch her delicate arm with his meaty fist and say, “OK, Dude.”

It was a typical Kim family holiday: sit, chat, eat, repeat. Sit, chat, eat, repeat. Sit, chat, eat, repeat…

My poor son had to work on his term paper outline all weekend long…

Every once in a while he would take a break to sprint around the block:


I found a reminder of our trip to San Francisco in my parents’ fridge. We had eaten smoked salmon for breakfast every morning in the Garden Court at the Palace Hotel. My mother proclaimed that she felt like she was eating a king’s feast, and so we started to call her the “Countess” for the rest of the time we were there. This weekend when I opened the fridge, I saw that my sister had bought some smoked salmon for her and had attached this note:

Today is my sister’s birthday. She is the sun around which our family revolves. She is extravagant in her love, lavish in her generosity. She is wickedly funny and witty. I think she may be the only person in the world, who reads so voraciously that she takes books into the shower. She is the world’s best storyteller. Honest to God, listening to her retell a movie plot is way better than actually seeing the movie. She can talk about the price of crude oil and somehow make it so enthralling that you hang on her every word. Beauty follows in her wake. I love you, Sissy. Happy Birthday, and may your every wish come true! xoxoxo

This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for so many things, but most of all: for my family.

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