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Published: December 13th 2008
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Tuesday 26th November to Wednesday 3rd December, 2008 Thanksgiving in America, always the last Thursday in November is a day when families get together to eat drink and be merry and is looked forward to and planned for with as much fervour amongst American folk as Christmas is back home. It is also a day when Faithful & Gould reward their staff with not just the customary day off but also with the following day meaning a much treasured four day weekend, like gold dust when the meagre holiday allowances are taken into consideration and whilst it was a case of unfortunate planning that Jerry's trip ended halfway through it was still something for me to savour.
I'd already turned down an invite to lamb and turkey thanksgiving lunch from colleague Nigel on the grounds that Jerry, Phil and I were planning a reccy to San Diego but upon the realisation that his flight home was early Friday morning the trip was cancelled and we found ourselves staring at the likelihood of the three of us being sat around the TV set with a turkey TV dinner nestling in our laps. As luck would have it that didn't happen
but it was a very close call.
Wednesday was Jerry's penultimate night and the last chance for a farewell knees up and we consequently headed to nearby Seal Beach to meet up with Dan, Lisa and the visiting Stuart. Seal Beach, the next settlement down the coast from Belmont Shore is a perfect example of your typical Californian seaside town, the sort of sleepy, snail paced place that would likely inspire Stephen King to write yet another long winded tale focussing on some poor tormented soul experiencing bizarre paranormal occurences before revealing in the closing pages that the person in question had actually been in the throes of gradually losing his marbles all the time. It basically consists of several streets of affluent all timber family homes, a near deserted wave lapped sandy beach complete with the obligatory rickety wooden pier and a quaint main street hosting several boutiques, a couple of realtors and a clutch of Irish themed bars.
Unfortunately no one forewarned us that the evening before Thanksgiving was traditionally the night when half of Southern Californias 21 year old inhabitants swoop down on the sleepy hamlet for the evening effectively transforming it into SoCal's equivalent
of The Strawberry of twenty five years ago, a youth club for the beautiful people. To say we felt our age would be an understatement. At first we huddled together like a bunch of frightened sheep being prepared for their one and only trip to the abattoir watching each others backs like George C.Custer and his men before slowly but surely being buffetted into submission into a tiny corner by the bar. Like seasoned pro's however we weren't to be defeated and rolled into our pit several hours later in the early hours of Thanksgiving morning. I say pit as opposed to its plural as by now Jerry had taken on board the assumption that my offer upon his arrival of 'make yourself at home and help yourself to anything' included sleeping quarters. I couldn't complain though as I had offered and the bed was thankfully more than big enough to allow the two of us to sleep without contact of any shape or form which could, especially with the amount of alcohol consumption going on be construed as incestuous. He is my brother after all.
I was woken early on Thanksgiving morning by a loud banging on the
door, automatically assumed it was Phil and wearing just my undies and the slightest hint of morning glory sprang out of bed and rushed to open it still rubbing the sleep from my eyes and shouting "hold your f***in' horses Bazil" as I went. I fumbled with the lock, flung the door open and through eyes squinting into the early morning sun was horrified to be confronted by the highly amused figures of my forty something next door neighbour Deborah and her friend whose name escapes me, both grinning from ear to ear and holding a dish of sage and onion stuffing and a Pecan pie respectively. They'd called to 'borrow' some oven space as the turkey dinner she was preparing for her eight guests had more than filled hers and in return, probably as much in compensation for the embarrassment caused as for the use of the oven came the offer of dinner. The previous evening Angela and Mark from next door but one had invited us around so I politely explained to Deb it would be rude to accept her offer and not theirs but she was having none of it. It just looked like we were going
For What We Are About To Receive.
Baz, me, Lisa 2, Jerry and Stuart in Seal Beach Youth Club. to have to do a Dawn French Vicar of Dibley and eat both.
By 11am I was was with Jerry sipping on a Bloody Mary in Shannons, not the perfect start to the day bearing in mind the previous evening but his beloved Manchester City were on TV again and that was the only place we could get to see it and having nipped home once to ensure Deborah had access to her stuffing we returned at one o'clock for a wonderfully succulent turkey dinner followed for me by a refereshing windswept stroll along Long Beach.
Whilst my place has a stairwell all to itself my two neighbours share and so at 5pm when the last of the meal had finally settled Phil and I left Jerry on Deborah's couch, took a few strides across the stairwell balcony shifting homes in the process and found ourselves settling down with Angela's Cuban mother and father and the rest of her family for a second helping. Amongst the family members was a bonafide rock star, brother Jose being the drummer with thrash metallers 'Bad Acid Trip' who record on Serj Tankians
Serjikal Strike Records and who toured the States on
For What We Are About To Receive.
And five hours later on the way home. last years Ozzfest and boyfriend Mark, the peroxided larger than life character who always addresses Phil and I as the Scouzers and who took us completely by surprise by handing out little snippets of paper before we sat to eat and proceeding to read the thanksgiving words printed on them aloud and wait for everyone present to Amen it when he'd finished. The hospitality of our neighbours was second to none and we ended the day and Jerry's two week vacation with another visit to Shannon's. At six thirty the following morning, about six hours too early as far as I was concerned the alarm bell rang and I transported Jerry to the airport for his 9.30am flight. We'd had a great time together and he left with a bear hug and the promise that he'd be back soon.
As I drove home along a relatively deserted 405 it dawned on me that I needed to slow down, not in the speed of my driving but in my pace of life. Jerry had been on holiday and we'd both lived for a fortnight as though we both were, especially with the trip to Vegas in between and consequently for
For What We Are About To Receive.
Shannon's barmaid shows me the money ! the first time I can recall Friday night was spent reclined horizontally on the couch.
On Sunday I was still in recharge mode and excused myself from the normal American Football and beer afternoon and took off to visit a famous LA landmark that had been on my 'to visit' list for some time. The Getty Centre, situated on top of the Brentwood Hills overlooking the whole of Los Angeles is a museum and art gallery housed within the most architecturally awesome series of buildings, all clad in a bright white granite imported all the way from Italy. It was put together on a budget of $ 4 Billion, yes billion and it showed. As should be expected at such a place of notoriety the whole thing was swarming with the ubiquitous Japanese tourists but I still managed to happily spend four hours wandering aimlessly around the exhibits and gardens before, as darkness fell and the place began to empty out being confronted with the most incredible sunset I have ever seen. The photographs, whilst spectacular do not do what the naked eye could see justice, the whole of the sky transformed into a sea of brilliant bright orange.
For What We Are About to Receive.
Full house. Deb & Jeff's on Thanksgiving.
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Deb
non-member comment
Great entry!
Great blog entry.....Jeffrey and I are so proud to be part of your first Thanksgiving in America. We are so lucky to have you as a neighbor and even more blessed to know you as a friend. BTW, your invite to Thanksgiving dinner was NOT contingent on oven space... you were welcome all along, I thought you were going out of town (that is what Phil said..). Also, I thought your brother's name was John...who is Jerry? Next time I will ring youon the tele before knocking on your door and finding you in your undies...HAHA!