Thankful

It's Canadian Thanksgiving. And this year, it's going to be low-key. Last year, I went to a couple of friends' house, and had a big feast, followed by a trivia marathon. My first Thanksgiving in Inuvik consisted of a huge party hosted by me and my roommates. We borrowed twenty-five chairs from the metal shop at the school, including the infamous “slut chair,” the orange one with obscenities all over it, the one we had hidden in the storage room in shame, the one we had subsequently forgotten to return, the one that followed me when I moved from the old apartment to this house.

We had a party here on Saturday, although it wasn't officially a Thanksgiving gathering. It was hockey night, and my boyfriend's team was playing against its most loathed rivals. We had a few close friends over, and ate a scrumptious meal. Needless to say, my part in preparing the meal was minuscule. My friend had called after I left a message for her and her husband to come over for supper. My boyfriend answered the phone because I had stepped out, and my friend sounded confused: “V invited us over, but she doesn't cook supper. Are we supposed to bring something?” She was reassured that I wasn't going to be the chef for the night.

This year, I'm thankful yet again for the people in my life. One of my friends who came over on Saturday couldn't help but smile at me the entire night. She cited that I had changed in the two years that we had known each other, that I now seemed more confident and content. And I think she's right.

I'm thankful for the first snow, which happened this past week. The town seems so much more serene and more magical, like an enchanted village from a fairy-tale. I was grinning to myself as I stepped out into the white world yesterday, training my feet to get re-accustomed to the ice and snow.

I'm thankful for the peace that befalls us in slumber. I was glancing over at my boyfriend's face as he was sleeping in the early hours of the morning. I propped myself up on my elbow and just stared. There's such beauty and vulnerability there. I wanted so much to reach out and smooth out his hair on the pillow, to lean over and kiss his eyelids, but I didn't want to disturb this ephemeral state. And so, I was content with watching and appreciating.

I'm thankful for my students, more than ever right now. I had heard a harrowing story about one of them, about her going into the bush and almost getting killed (due to her own stupid choice of companions). Despite the boisterousness, the stubbornness, the apathetic attitude, I can't help but see my students' fragility. I just want to hold them and protect them. I'm thankful that we're all alive and able to spend the moments that we have together – even the ones where I want to pull their (or my own) hair out.

I'm thankful for books, for ideas, for poetry, for music. I've not returned my digital piano after all, in part due to the cost of shipping it back to Vancouver, mostly due to my own laziness. So, I'll live with the defective middle C. I've started reading Italo Calvino's If On a Winter's Night a Traveler, one of the most inventive works I've ever enjoyed. Here, all conventions of story-telling are turned topsy-turvy. The reader becomes a character, and plot-development, character-development, setting, etc. all flow to a different rhythm.

Last, but not least, I'm thankful that I'm thankful.