Thanksgiving on the Cape

So judging by my still bursting waistband, it's still close enough to Christmas to discuss turkey. Ergo (new year, new classy approach to blogging - although I'm glad you weren't there to witness my googling of 'herego' and the paradigm shifting moment when I realized no no, that's not right) I can just about squeeze in a blog post about thanksgiving through clever associative word play right?

A 4am alarm, seriously questionably sized 'handluggage' hauled onto shoulders and I began my first thanksgiving (a notion that Americans found hard to wrap their heads around) trudging up Woodstock in the 5.30 blackness - my only prior thanksgiving experiences amounting to the 'performative banquet' in my PS conference the day before and the time last year where we squished too many people into our teeny teeny lounge, drank too much wine, and witnessed the sexual harassing of a door, the revelation of Amy's astoundingly accurate Beyonce impression and some graphic charading from Chloe. You can't tell me that wasn't a proper thanksgiving. It made me very thankful. For wine. For food. For Friends. Very thankful indeed.

So here I am, barely conscious, strapped into my Avatarian blue turtle shell, stumbling up a hill in the dark, and seriously regretting my penny saving decision to skip the cab fare and brave early morning public transport when SUDDENLY... a huge shadowy beast appears on the path ahead of me. Having seen a warning sign taped to a telegraph pole a few days earlier about racoons and coyotes in the area, let's just say that my 'irrational fear' of  the Oregonian wildness and my unanswered questions of 'what do you do if you meet a mountain lion?' weren't looking so stupid now. Because who knew raccoons were so freaking huge!! Wide eyed I rooted to the spot, locked in a stare off with this suburban bandit, all googling of animal survival techniques rendered mute, before scarpering as quickly as I could in the direction I'd seen some (clearly fanatic) joggers heading. It's amazing how quickly an overstuffed argos hiking rucksack can move when confronted with these scary scavengers. Don't be fooled my friends, they might look all cute and cuddly on National Geographic but trust me, my little friend looked much more like this:

Scary stuff right?
My journey's are never dull.

A few hours later I'm on the plane cracking up over Catlin Moran's How to be a woman whilst trying to not let the chatty, guitar strumming deacon sitting next to me see that I just highlighted the whole section on names for your vagina. Not that I'm tarnishing all religious men with the same misogynistic brush, but there is something inherently  awkward about the word cunt and a deacon being within your same field of vision (another reason we need feminsim). After discussing life, writing and the joy of saxophones with Deacon Sal, I did feel a little guilty (not being a christian and all) for being very relieved he was sat next to me when we landed in Boston in the middle of a huge fear inducing storm (which turned out to be the red and blue flashing lights mounted to the wing of the plane and a hell of a lot of wind and rain).













Then I found Olivia at baggage claim.
That Olivia
The friend you really don't deserve because she is so sweet and kind and wonderfully thoughtful, she replies to texts straight away when you don't, and by the end of thanksgiving you're rolling around shaking with laughter, faces stuffed with pumpkin pie and coffee fro yo because you've planned an impossible trip to Tennessee where the only conceivable way of getting from Nashville to Dollywod is via horse owning cowboys who fancy taking us for a ride.

So together we zoom down to Cape Cod (it never changes), marvel over how great a non-student bed is and get down to the serious business of thanksgiving feasting. So here's the (American schoolkid version) lowdown of thanksgiving for y'all still in the dark.
http://www.scholastic.com/scholastic_thanksgiving/feast/slideshow.htm
It was one of those funny coincidences to find myself celebrating my first thanksgiving only 34 and a half miles away from Plymoth!

Unlike the first thanksgiving however, my thanksgiving looked more like
This:

Recognize the acorn squash from safeway shenanigans in my first week?

My Aunt and O bonding over cooking

What would thanksgiving be without a little bit of family humiliation? Thanks xbox connect.


















The rest of the vaca we spent exploring the little town of Chatham - it's funny, I've been there 4 or 5 times in past summers growing up and it never changes. Small town America wrapped up in pretty white Cape Cod chocolate box houses and Main Streets.


If my Laptop hadn't crapped out last year when it flew across my bedroom in Norwich and I lost all my files I could do some cool Chatham through the ages photos. The best I can do is us at Chatham's 4th July parade in 09 (stolen from the brother's fb)

Ah nostalgia.

Speaking of, on my last day we headed up North to New Hampshire to see other Olivia - an old friend I haven't seen for years. For two people on other sides of the globe it's frightening how on the same wave length we are, and how many words we can cram into a minute! Oh time, what are you doing to me?

Having felt like I'd only just stepped off the plane than I was back at the airport. No deacon this time just a lot of rain. And I mean a LOT. Portland was on top form. And so obviously, drenched and dying for a cuppa my next bus deciding it wouldn't be coming until 5.30 the next morning and so I trudge, through Portland storms, back home.