This time of year is why I live in New York.. Well, I was born here and my family is here and the roots are laid down so I’m pretty content the rest of the seasons, but the chill in the air and the colors on the trees in Prospect Park and the smell of honey roasted peanuts are enough to get me through my bouts of urban doubt. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, pretty much the only one we celebrate that isn’t based on spending money on silly things, as gluttonous as it is.
Thanksgiving always reminds me of a Norman Rockwell painting. Not that my life was ever like a Rockwell scene, not that we ever had a turkey that big or grandma coming out of the kitchen in her apron serving us – yeah, definitely not my grandma.. but we build our scene, as imperfect as it is, and paint it a little bit better.. I am equally fond of Rockwell’s photos as I am of his paintings, you can’t separate the two, but seeing what he chose to use and take out from each shot is like the way we build our memories.. what we decide to remember as opposed to the full story, the full photo.. not that the photo is always real.. well you know, OK, I am opening a can of worms here when all we wanna do is eat pumpkin pie and drink a hot toddy and avoid talking politics with certain family members.. Have a perfectly imperfect holiday and see you on Monday.