French people don't do Thanksgiving, which is one reason I could never stay here forever, no matter how much I'm going to miss the eclairs. It would be hard to imagine a more perfect holiday than Thanksgiving: beautiful weather, wool sweaters, cranberry sauce, cousins and none of the ridiculous Christmas hoopla. My family makes a dry turkey and capture the flag afterward feel positively sacramental, and I missed them this weekend.
But. Even in this country which is so uncivilized as not to know about pumpkin pie, I'm thankful for:
- nuns on bicycles
- my orange scarf and the brother who wove it for me
- rainy days, herbal tea and essay collections
- companionable silences
- this view from my window:
