Fall is haunting. The Hesperian depression can grab you before you’ve had a chance to turn on your lift-your-mood lights or find that little spot of sun in a piazza each day for your Vitamin D. But still, it is turkey month, and a past Thanksgiving is on my mind.
I am thinking to myself, a self that, by the way, is more or less agnostic but also schizophrenic in that I, more and more, after having moved to Europe, give daily thanks for this or that without really knowing to whom I am speaking.
I’m thinking, whoa, there are so, so many things to be thankful for right now, notwithstanding the frightening election turns in the U.S., the seemingly endless wars in Gaza and Ukraine, hunger in so many places and changes in the weather on our planet.
Oh, and all those golden parachute guys who help homeowners dig themselves into an economic ditch with their quest for lower taxes and more, more, more bucks.
Don’t parachutes eventually close or snag on sharp branches?
I’m thankful for small things: costoluto tomatoes reflecting the still-present November sun in Campo de’ Fiori.
But despite all this, right now I’m thankful for small things: costoluto tomatoes reflecting the still-present November sun in Campo de’ Fiori (there are lots of countries — Russia, Finland, or Iceland, for example, where “November sun” is an oxymoron and always has been). I’m happy for my little ribbed jewels and the basil that Signora di Marco, my vendor, tucks into my bag. I’m even happier when, on Wednesdays, I take home from our little new vegetable market on Via del Gesù perfect mozzarella to give November’s last tomatoes a send-off in style.
I’m remembering, too, a November long ago, on the way to Campo de’ Fiori for Thanksgiving basics. So many memories of that time before . . . well, . . . before.
I was thankful for the tall, colorfully dressed African woman who stood by her sign which read, “Sono povera ma felice.” She hummed exotic songs from her country as she begged. I loved this woman, and was glad she was happy, even in poverty, and singing.
I was thankful I could give her something every now and then and see her lovely smile.
There were myriad beggars in our quartiere, and they came to know us inhabitants (as we knew them), never expecting daily donations but instead chatting about the weather or their lives when they were greeted. And on the days I could easily part with some centesimi or an extra euro or two, the coins were theirs.
I’m thankful that there was an understood giving-receiving agreement in our neighborhood; we knew where our donations went, or at least, to whom, instead of simply writing a check to be sucked up into the void of large charities. Not that large organizations do not improve the world, but I like the Roman habit of one-on-one giving.
We knew where our donations went, or at least, to whom, instead of simply writing a check to be sucked up into the void of large charities.
At that special time of year, I was thankful, too, for the familiar smell of pasta con ceci or penne all’arrabbiata wafting out of kitchen windows through the narrow streets just before lunch; for an Indian summer change of weather as the sun suddenly emerged from behind a dissipating rain cloud; for neighbors in agreement that it was time to get out wool sweaters, closed shoes, and baskets for mushroom-hunting, and pitch in together to get autumn on its way yet again.
I’m always thankful for changes of season. It’s stimulating to take on winter. Keeps you on your toes, clears the brain, and eventually makes you thankful, yet again, for that day on which you first smell the sweet perfume of spring.
I’m also thankful not to be thirty. Or forty. Or fifty. Let’s stop there. . . .
I’m thankful for having found (past thirty) my perfect helpmeet and love.
I’m thankful for the sweet friends at that warm Thanksgiving in Rome years ago.
And I’m really, really hopeful that voters in the US just might one day see the error of their choices and strive to regain honesty, decency, empathy, kindness, consideration for others, and respect for our constitution.
And if vegetarians are warning turkeys to hightail it into the woods, so be it.
Freedom for all.
