I have to say this last week has been all kinds of wonderful; my parents and brother arrived early in the week and I have been able to spend some much needed family time with them. I knew how much I missed them, but I didn’t realize how much I missed the individual moments we share. Moments like my brother making us cry with laughter with one of his observational comments. Watching my dad beam with joy as he crop dusts an entire subway car, then as he sees the collateral damage he has inflicted on his family, suddenly bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Or my personal favorite--catching my mom doing something she knows she shouldn’t be doing and seeing her turn into a little girl who got caught. As I write this down, I’m realizing the Hartman’s are just a bunch of kids… I think I like that; maybe that’s why we are so close. Because of that closeness, I could imagine this Thanksgiving being very lonely without them, but fortunately they came to the city to celebrate my first Day of Turkey.
I suppose this years Thanksgiving actually started Wednesday evening. My mom wanted to see the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons being blown up. This is apparently a thing to do, although I had never heard of it, I was willing to try. Well, so was all of New York. My brother, mom and I rode an over stuffed subway to the staging area of the parade where we were greeted by hundreds, if not thousands of people, shuffling their feet (as one could not take a full step), in an area that spanned 4 blocks by 1 block. The balloons were being blown up on multiple streets, and to keep some sense of order we were only allowed to walk in one direction in a giant square.
Now my mom has a cane because of a knee surgery, but I can tell you my mom doesn’t see the cane as an instrument to help take pressure off the knee, but rather as a tool that is used to point at objects, and more importantly, a pass to get away with shit she shouldn’t get away with. As she jockeyed with other spectators to get prime position for pictures of Spiderman, The Pillsbury Dough Boy, and others she would delicately cut people off and then offer the cane as an excuse. Sometime the excuse was offered apologetically, other times helplessly; it all depended on the person the excuse was being offered to---I’m telling you she’s good. Little kids were no match for my mom; she had carefully crafted and executed a plan that was unstoppable---the cane!!!
We had only made it down one of the blocks before we decided to cut out. The crowds were really getting too intense and that one block itself had taken about an hour. Maybe next year I will plan it out better and be more prepared. But, even though it was overcrowded, I had a great time; it was nice to see my mom’s excitement. She really does get like a little kid as her face lights up with wonderment…its one of the things I enjoy most about her.
Leading up to actual Thanksgiving Day, the big debate (at least in my mind) was what the hell are we gonna eat??? God knows fitting a full sheet of cookies into my oven is asking too much, let alone a turkey. We kinda decided to make reservations at some sort of restaurant, but I felt slightly uneasy about that. All of the menus I had looked at were over priced, and the food just wasn’t our style. We aren’t fancy eaters so I don’t think any of us would have been content after the meal---just full. I had to sit and think about what I like about Thanksgiving and make that happen. Well it finally occurred to me that my favorite part about Thanksgiving was the leftover sandwich. I mean the meal itself is okay, but the sandwich a few hours later is where the real joy of Thanksgiving is. Knowing this, I decided to go straight to the happiness and make Thanksgiving sandwiches. Problem solved—Thanksgiving saved.
An hour before the parents arrived at the apartment on Thursday I started to warm the homemade meal (including all the fixings) lovingly prepared by Trader Joe’s.
Soon after, I answered the phone to a slightly frantic mother who was quietly yelling, “Get your ass down here now and open the door before your father and I get shot.” What she actually said was, “ Hunny, please just come down stairs and get us.” But I could hear what she really meant by her tone so I jumped up. When I got down stairs and outside, I could see what had caused my mom such great concern… I’ll call them neighbors; she’ll call them thugs. People in the neighborhood (neighbors) decide its okay to blast their parked car stereos and gather around them as if it’s an outdoor club. Well because they were at my stoop my mom and dad decided to walk away from the danger after being dropped of by the taxi. I couldn’t find them at first, but eventually found them across the street awaiting their private escort who would ensure them safe passage through the gang.
They made it upstairs safely, and when they entered the apartment we had officially reached maximum occupancy for the room-5. Any more people could warrant a visit from the fire marshal. We shuffled around the apartment and gave them the grand tour. I think they liked it, but I was more than sure they were grateful they didn’t have to endure the conditions for more than an evening.
We then transformed the living room into the grand dining room. This is accomplished by un-stacking the two cubed coffee tables and placing them in front of the couch. This creates a formal dining space with dimensions of 2 feet by 4 feet. But don’t think we can sit on all sides of this massive table—the room isn’t wide enough. So desk chairs are brought in from the other rooms and placed some distance from the table. Welcome to New York City.
One by one we made our sandwiches. Sourdough toast with a healthy coating of mayo, topped with a thin layer of mashed potatoes, two spoonfuls of stuffing smashed on the potatoes, freshly carved turkey nestled on top, a drizzle of gravy, and a dollop of cranberry sauce before another mayo slathered slice of toast gets placed as the crown. I don’t know why all Thanksgivings aren’t like this. We all enjoyed our cozy meal much more than any fancy meal we could have bought.
After dinner, Kevin, my mom, and I walked to Central Park and strolled around in the rain by the reservoir, while my brother and dad took advantage of the couch and the football game. When we got back it was apparent that both of them had fallen asleep, thus proving football is not that entertaining. After pumpkin pie was served, we pulled up some favorite YouTube clips and laughed at people.
First Thanksgiving in NYC—success.
It wasn’t until late Friday night that I realized I hadn’t once thought about what I was thankful for. I guess the opportunity had been lost in the business of the holiday itself. So… among many things, I am grateful I get to call these wonderful people my family. I love you guys.
