Thanksgiving with accent

Being together, on a day like today, became a habit. The first day of Thanksgiving In the USA passed through my experience as something new, without any transcendence. I didn’t make any introspection regarding the festivity.
Then came the Pittsburgh’s years. Yesterday Graciela asked me, ‘do you remember how Diane’s house smelled?’ I closed my eyes. On a day of Thanksgiving? ‘Not every time we were there.’
She told me it smelled of a mixture of chemicals used to do art and smelled ginger.
I went back through the smell of Thanksgiving; the turkey and bread that Henry and Diane used to make, all the contours.
We were very ashamed to carry something because we understood that the culinary of the festivity did not correspond with our traditions. I can say that at that moment Diane and Henry’s house smelled like home. To a warm home. The smells of bread, I can say that it felt of others people who had passed by, those who were passing by and those who will pass by. That house is the sum of all the blessings of those who find refuge in it. That house is the sum of all the laughter, contradictions, projects, frustrations, resilience, sadness, triumphs and why not, Henry’s jokes and irony. He has a particular way to tell stories, I can say.
That house is a compendium of all of us who wander the earth and find a stop in it. That house was all the other houses in the neighborhood, Silvia’s house, Kemart’s house, Vijay’s house, Aki’s house, Orlando’s house, Graciela’s house, my daughters’ house, Osama’s house, and Tuhin’s house.
The 330 was able to gather close friends to get ahead a beautiful project (Gisela, Carolina, Héctor and Rafael). To that house my dear Enza came, and we simulated to do a Vasco Szinetar technique to take a pic in the mirrors. And in that house, Horacio showed more than he probably would have liked to show, and that was good and kind.
Over time, my family has understood and has been able to incorporate the culinary of the Thanksgiving’s day. However, even though today Graciela and I meet, without our daughters, nothing is perfect, with another part of the family, I will miss the Resse’s and Samuels’ bread. And I’m giving thanks for them and for the City of Asylum Pittsburgh. I’m giving thanks for their staff and thanks to Silvia.

You all bread and home.

Thanks for the “Tommys,” particularly Bill.

I want to add, in my Thanksgiving note to special neighbors: Cindy and Brian, the mushroom hunter. Thanks, dear Bob and to Diana, the girl who loves Roberto Clemente and keep him alive, she is a perennial Pittsburgh’s Pirates fan — you must have true faith and that’s is merit to gain heaven. I spent many afternoons conversing in Spanish and English with Diana.

My thank to the ladies from the Widow’s House and especially to my neighbor, a man who always set on his ladder in summer, one day he disappeared like good men do, without scandal, I never knew his name, and yet I know how much we esteemed each other.
Be blessed you all.

Ps, to my Allegheny General Hospital friends, there is another note. I love them so much.