Turkey Day

About two weeks before Thanksgiving, as we were going over upcoming events at our volunteers' dinner, we realized that November 27th was not going to be just another potluck.  The Casa has a long tradition of hosting Thanksgiving dinner, and Casa volunteers are well-accustomed to whipping up plates to share (whether it be at the Sunday potluck, the monthly staff lunch, the Monday night meeting, the occasional welcome or goodbye party, etc).  Yet, with a sense of awe and horror, it dawned on all of us that we would not be fighting each other for kitchen space so that Heather could make Grandma's apple pie while Gia was blending Mom's mashed potatoes.  There was no time for individual concoctions: this was going to be a massive, collective effort.  It just so happened that Thanksgiving was to fall on one of the same days as our big migration conference.  

"How many people are coming with the conference?"

"Well, it's almost impossible to know because we haven't heard from everyone."

"Are we talking 15?  30?  40?"

"Let's think about it this way.  There are at least 10 of us.  Plus around 15 Casa regulars.  Plus a handful more of guests who aren't part of the conference who will want to come.  And, if we have 30 with the conference, we're looking at Thanksgiving for 60."

"Do we even have that many chairs?"

"Listen, guys, Thanksgiving is a special day.  Let's not make it stressful by trying to do more than we are capable of."

"Can we just tell them that we won't be able to cook for them on Thanksgiving?  They can go grab tortas on the corner."

"But what is Thanksgiving all about if not sharing food and traditions?  This is a conference on migration.  It would be the ultimate irony not to invite them.  This is a chance to reclaim the historical significance of Thanksgiving!  The significance that was lost in the massacre of the Native Americans."

And so the conversation went.  In the end, we decided to go for it.  All hands on deck.  We would ask the coordinator of the conference to bring another turkey, and we would start shopping and preparing the weekend before.  Going against the deeply engrained food culture at the Casa, we decided to abandon our own favorite recipes and agree on a handful of simple Thanksgiving essentials that we would all help to make: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, corn bread, cranberry sauce, and pie.  Lots of pie.  

So what did Thanksgiving at the Casa de los Amigos look like?  I couldn't help but notice as I was put in charge of cutting the celery and making the aguas frescas that a key way in which this Thanksgiving differed from the traditional American holiday was in the disinfecting.  The fruits and vegetables that you buy in Mexico have to be disinfected with iodine drops,  a process of about 20 minutes.  The disinfecting alone made the gargantuan task of preparing food for what ended up being around 45 people seem twice as lengthy.  It doesn't help that as a child I was a bit of a hypochondriac, routinely checking my mom's fridge to make sure that the milk hadn't expired, so when preparing food for others here I still have the tendency to err on the cautious side.  A little bit of extra rinsing here, a few more iodine drops there. 

Aguas frescas are created by combining any variety of fruit with water and sugar.  I chopped up guavas and pineapple, and with the expert help of our beloved external volunteer, Liz, blended them with water and strained them into a huge plastic bucket.  Guava seeds are tricky little devils, so we had to use some very precise strainers to separate the juice from the seeds.  Despite the time-consuming nature of the job, I loved that we were dedicating hours to making homemade juice, when at home I wouldn't think twice about buying a cran-apple blend at the grocery store.  There's something very calming/cathartic about just sitting around slicing up fruits and vegetables.  Maybe it's in the slowing down, the choosing to do something manually despite the existence of more efficient technology.  It's for this reason that my aunt washes all of her dishes by hand.  

By 6 PM, the house smelled of perfectly seasoned stuffing.  Everyone was ready to lend a hand in transporting salads and steaming plates to the third floor conference room where we had set up long tables for a family style feast.  Some of our diverse guests included: Annick, the Belgian photographer, Orfila, my adopted Peruvian grandmother, Julian and Milton, the gay next door neighbors, Cassandra, the Casa's own Zsa Zsa Gabor, and Elvira, a woman who made the news in '06 for taking sanctuary in a Chicago church as she faced deportation to Mexico.  I was excited to share in what would undoubtedly be the first Thanksgiving of many Mexican guests present, but at the same time slightly nervous about how we were going to explain our holiday.  It was obvious, especially to the group of activists from the conference, that the hunky dory notion of a harmonious interchange between Pilgrims and Indians that we teach to our children would come up short in defining the meaning of Thanksgiving.  

As our director Nico stood up to make a brief speech, I felt proud to count myself as a member of the Casa team.  Nico spoke about how Thanksgiving has come to be a controversial holiday, how some now honor it as a day of mourning for the oppression of Native Americans rather than a day of celebration.  He touched on US/Mexico relations especially in lieu of the conference on migration, emphasizing the Casa's stance of solidarity and how we seek to be an alternative embassy, an embassy with open doors in which we all are ambassadors of peace.  Many of our guests stood up to share about what they were thankful for, and for Eliza, an indigenous woman from Guatemala, her mere presence at the conference was something to commemorate.  Due to corrupt, complicated government bureaucracy, she was almost denied permission to travel to Mexico as a conference participant. 

As I thought about the meaning of this little Thanksgiving gathering at the Casa, I began to think about what this day means for us in the States.  While it may have lost the credibility of any historical significance, it has evolved into something that is still special and worth celebrating: family and giving thanks.  In Spanish, the translation for Thansgiving is "Dia de accion de gracias" which literally means "day of the action of thanks."  While some might accuse Thanksgiving of having gone wayward in the same manner as Christmas and other American holidays, of representing naught more than gluttony and the violent removal of indigenous peoples, I would argue that it is one of the more beautiful traditions that we have.  Since family is not as prioritized in the US as it is in Latin America, Thanksgiving is one of the few days out of the year that extended American families actually do get together.  I was feeling acutely the sense that Thanksgiving was synonymous with "family" as I chopped up celery in the morning, imagining with nostalgia what everyone would be doing at home.  I might be rolling out a pie crust while my mom would be putting the swiss corn bake in the oven.  A phone call from my Dad, relaying to me a delightful chorus of "Happy Thanksgiving to you" sung to the tune of the birthday song by cousins, aunts, and uncles almost brought me to tears.  I am thankful for family that does not forget me even as I wander the world, for people that make me feel cherished and missed, and for surrogate international families that form in places like the Casa.  Mostly I am thankful for the amazing people in my life, the people who love me and challenge me and teach me everyday by their example, whether they be in Pennsylvania, Connecticut, Washington, Ghana, or Mexico.  How was I lucky enough to find all of you?  Muchas gracias por todo.