So begins the holiday season…around the Thanksgiving table, with improvised turkey, Indian and pilgrim hats, a family of friends, and Christmas music. I had my cousin smuggle in the cream of mushroom soup and the fried onions from America, here to my new and soon to be former home: Lyon, France. My french roommates (collocs) experienced their first Thanksgiving in living color, complete with tunes from a Charlie Brown Christmas and a “benefication”/prayer telling God all of the things we are thankful for. It’s really too much to list, but I gave it a shot and they got their laïque kicks, and who knows, maybe felt the rush of it all–the holiday, the love, the thought of celebrating all for which we have to be thankful. The event was also enriched by the presence of my cousin visiting from Connecticut, another American to give legitimacy to all of the little bizarre traditions we never think twice about until we see it from the perspective from an outsider. Not to mention bringing the love and understanding of real family to the tumultuous and beautiful life I’ve found here.
As the calendar changes to December I can see the pinprick light at the end of the tunnel, my time here ticking and flying and slipping through my hands. Profiter, I’ll try. My desires exist in extremes. I have the extreme longing to be with my sisters and my parents, to see tacky Christmas lights, to go to Wal-mart in the middle of the night, to eat a Jimmy Johns Vegetarian, to eat Mexican cheese dip and chips, but mostly just to be with my family. At the same time I know the moment all of those things happen that means my time living here –ultimate freedom, relaxation, pure friendships, surrounded by beauty and history, rock and roll, living the dream– is over. Sure I can come back–but to live with three like I do now, to have such a light load and such a heavy peace, it isn’t the kind of thing that happens everyday. So I have an extreme longing for America, and an extreme dread, because it means this is over. I guess every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end. The magic going on here is sure to be a part of me as I go forward into the future. I guess my sincerest hope would be that in addition to having changed me as a person, the magic going on here continues to be alive. Living here has given me the opportunity to appreciate beauty, to work on myself, to finally live a little bit of what I believe (re: philosophies, who I want to be/see myself being when I look into my crystal ball, etc.).
So in the meantime, I’ll study the French Constitution, profiter, and turn up the Christmas music. My heart will be on both sides of the ocean, and perhaps later in life scattered in pieces across the globe, but Christmas, without a doubt, will be in Dixie.
A Pocket Full of Mumbles... 