The smell of turkey is in the air...

And so is curry and garlic and something that I just can't place my finger on it. But whatever it is, it is good and it is making me hungry already.

That is the nice part about Thanksgiving here. I think that there may be only one or two apartments that may be cooking a traditional turkey today. The smells wafting in the window from around the courtyard are an eclectic melting pot of tastes, flavors, and cultures. It is like a melting pot turkey... And I don't mean the deep fried kind.

The Indians have been bustling about all morning, coming and going in their beautiful flowing silks and saris. There are folding chairs on some of the porches that are just waiting to be brought inside when the rest of their families arrive.

The Chinese family directly across from The Boyfriend's has been chasing their cuter than possible daughters back inside for a couple of hours now. They are in the frilliest, puffiest dresses with jeans on underneath. I just love that.

The Russians next door have been banging about in their kitchen since six this morning. Every time she chops vegetables it sound like she is knocking to be let in. Something that we have laughed about over many an evening. But today, she chops like she really means business. Oh, and I think she is expecting a tiny Russian soon... Like in about three or four months... I am not sure and the language barrier is a rather large one at this point, but it sure looks like it. I'll wait another month or two and then see...

The Latinos a floor below and a few doors down keep yelling with excitement and clapping their hands... I'm not sure at what, it's a little early for the game... Perhaps the Macy's Parade is really good this year. But without real TV, I am at a loss to actually see for myself.

Yes... This is where you tell me that I am more than a little like Mrs. Kravitz on the old TV show; Bewitched. And perhaps you might be right. But I might also have to point out that the elderly Asian woman that keeps stepping out to sweep her pristine front porch that I am quite positive has not had a speck of dust on it since she moved in, is much more fitting to that claim. Young Kravitz in training is more accurate.

I know the names of most all of the children that live in the apartments that share this little courtyard. (And that is no small feat. There are a couple dozen of them, most under the age of six or seven.) I can tell which families like to entertain. (The Indian families near the front and the Latino family near the laundry room.) Which like to keep to themselves... (The neighbor directly beneath us. And thank goodness for that. Ever since we broke The Boyfriends bed I have been mortified to show my face at whatever they might think. Come to think of it, I've never even seen who lives there. If the blinds didn't twitch as we walk by, I'd swear that the place was vacant.) I know what time of day is best to get the laundry room all to myself. (11am) When the mailman comes (Right after lunch.) And how often the gardeners come. (Which is way too often and way too early by the way...)

And of course with all the lugging of suitcases that The Boyfriend and I do, I can only imagine what the neighbors think of us... (And I am not even going to wonder if they all heard the bed break. I am not... I am not... I am not...)

So today is going to be a somewhat peaceful day for me. Just me and the pizza I am baking this afternoon. I am having a nice glass of Cabernet for company. This may actually be the first Thanksgiving where I put food onto my plate and then EAT it. Sorry, I am just not a big fan of Thanksgiving fare. Though I might just miss the pumpkin pie... Maybe just a little bit... And the olives. The olives that usually keep me from starving each year will be missed. (And if the stores were not going to be so incredibly insane today, I might have the urge to go and get a jar for the sake of nostalgia...)

Yeah... I spoke too soon. The Blogging was interrupted by a phone call from my Father already laying on the guilt trip and claiming that next year we are all going to be having Thanksgiving at his house. He spent what seemed like an eternity harping on the fact that he deserves to have us all over more than the other parents do... And that it is his turn.

Can you see why I am so happy to be here alone eating my homemade deep dish pizza and guzzling down a bottle of wine, while The Boyfriend is doing the family tap dance up in Oregon without me? And to think, my Father is going to be calling me again this afternoon to remind me that I owe him and that The Boyfriend needs to be there too... And to call my brothers and torment them on his behalf... Perhaps I should withhold any partaking of any red beverage that makes great legs upon the glass... I do not need to loosen my tongue upon my parents as they battle it out for the parental right to tear their children in two. I need to just wait until the day passes and then let them know that next year I will be in deep cover somewhere in the amazonian jungle and there is no cell service to be found for miles and miles...

Oh how I hate this holiday... I think I am going to have a glass (or two) of wine after all... (And by after all, I mean as soon as I can figure out how to open the bottle. I was never good at getting that little cork out of the top properly...)

Ahh... Vino... Take me away...
And bring the pizza with you...