November 22

It’s another Thanksgiving in China.

We’ve got two pumpkin pies with streusel on top, one just out of the oven. There’s a box of Stovetop sitting on the counter just waiting for its butter and water. And I can hear Shi-wen peeling the four potatoes which will be boiled and mashed and subjected to copious amounts of gravy.

This year our turkey came roasted in slices from a shop that sells sandwiches and salads and other things western. Admittedly this is not quite as dramatic as roasting our own bird but it'll do. Especially with gravy on top.  

The only necessity we couldn’t find was the can of Durkee onions that would have allowed the guilty pleasure of a French onion casserole. Despite being very hopeful, and going to several stores where western stuff is sold, Shi-wen was told that the places that once had the onions were now sold out. And the places that never had them, still didn’t have them. So no French onion casserole for us.

A missing casserole is admittedly a small thing in a big picture with lots of be thankful for. This is the middle of southwestern China after all. There’s no Cool Whip either and we’ll survive that too.

And while China won’t allow us our Durkee onions or our Cool Whip, it has nudged us towards being grateful for things that folks back home aren’t likely thinking of today.

 I’m thankful my pants have bottoms.

I’m thankful my favorite sofa is here for napping.

I’m thankful for the supermarkets and butchers who prepare meat the way I recognize it.

And I’m thankful I haven’t fallen in a manhole.

All this is to say, I’m thankful for the way my worldview changes each time my home does. Admittedly, gratitude is not the first emotion that wells up when I’m avoiding the open manholes and the no-bottomed pants, but you get there eventually.

Happy Thanksgiving Chengdu.