On a day like today, it's completely strange to be getting dressed to go to work, and not throwing on sweat pants and heading to the kitchen, or watching the parade over a few cups of coffee.
This is our first Thanksgiving here in Paris. Last year, we ate a turkey lunch at Gadsby's Tavern in Old Town before Michael drove me to the airport with all my things to fly to Paris. So today also marks a year having left DC. If I could say the year in between has been nothing but rainbows and unicorns (as my friend Jim would say), it just wouldn't be true. There have been days that we have truly struggled to adjust to life here. Today for me is one of those days. I miss the shared ritual of Thanksgiving that binds us with the millions of other Americans who are firing up the oven, roasting turkeys, baking pies, and generally eating enough food to sustain us all throughout the winter. We will have our Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday and make a big party of it, so it's not like we're missing the holiday. It's just that we have an ocean between us and those crazy people we call family on a day when the United States as collective whole sits down for a feast of epic and shameful proportions before retiring back to the living room to watch football and take a nap or two. But I will say that I am extremely grateful and deeply thankful for all of my friends and family - you mean the world to me, even though we sometimes feel a world apart. And a huge thanks to that lovely, handsome man I call my husband for signing up for this crazy life we call ours.
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AuthorBecause why not get married and move to Paris to really kick off your thirties? Archives
December 2016
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