I got those immigrations blues

Can you lay down a nice slow bass line for me?

Thanks.

It wasn't until later this afternoon that I realized it was Thanksgiving. Which is so very strange, because Thanksgiving has always been one of my most favourite of holidays. Yet--I haven't actually celebrated it in years.

I have bitched about this before--Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving too early and not on the right day. We never cook dinner, because we are usually at the boat closing things up for the season. Sometimes we go to my sister-in-law's for dinner on Monday, but its not my Thanksgiving, you know?

The dysfunctional family interactions entwined with all the traditional family foods are what Thanksgiving is. The giant bowl of nuts to be cracked open and eaten while the guests gathered. The hot hors d'oevres that were both tacky and delicious, which, along with the nuts made us almost too full to eat dinner. The relish tray assembled by my sister and served on the same floral dish with gold trim since the beginning of time. The broccoli with hollandaise sauce, in the early years prepared by my mother, and once mastered by me, my special duty. The excess drinking and subsequent arguments and tears. The dinner table conversation, which invariably ended up with my parents remininscing about their youth, both singly and as a couple. The pie. All the damn pie. And then you get three days to recover.

Someday I may move back to the States and Thanksgiving will take its rightful place in my life again. In the meantime...

I got those im-

I say I got those immigra--

I got those immigration...

Bluuuu-uuuu-uuuuues!!

Thank you. Thank you very much.