a thanksgiving, different from expected

I awake last Monday and don't crave coffee.  That's the first sign.

Scratchy throat. Heavy head. Dry cough. Fatigue. Overall achiness. Ya know, a cold. 

I keep hoping it will go away, but my colds generally linger more than a few days.  

By Thursday, Thanksgiving, I still have all the same annoying symptoms. I'm not really sick, but not exactly sick-free either.

Thanksgiving is possibly my favorite day of the year.  And as much as I want to go to my sister's, and hang out with my cousins and their kids, I don't want to risk making anyone else sick. 

So I stay home.

I'm not sad or mournful as I know I have much to be grateful for. Despite all that can be wrong among families, in my case, there is so much more that is right. I have two sisters, one niece, and four nephews. We are also very close with Abbey's (my brother-in-law's) family. Plus there is my mom and Abbey's mom. We are a large, boisterous, funny, smart, and interesting group — with seven little kids (the oldest is 10) who are always entertaining. 

But this year, instead of being with my family, I find myself googling, "What is the best way to freeze a fruit pie?" The apple pie I planned to bring (bought, not home-baked) is huge.

I also successfully ignore the many many emails I get from retailers luring me with sales of a million percent off. 

I watch a movie. 

Read some. 

See a great football game (with a sad ending) between KC (28) and Dallas (31). 

My sister thoughtfully sends my son home with the meal I missed. It includes turkey, my mom's famous stuffing that both my sisters make, string beans, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and my favorite, an entire 7-layer cake from Wall's. I could host my own Thanksgiving dinner with all the food she sends me.

My son  must feel sorry for me as he allows me to take a photo without argument. Just one more reason to be grateful today!

pre-thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has always been our family's favorite holiday. 

Our first Thanksgiving on the Cape is in 1979. 

Our last one is 33 years later, in 2012. 

My dad died in early November 2013. By then, the New York contingency had grown substantially. So beginning that year, our Thanksgiving dinners moved from Massachusetts to New York. 

And that is where they've stayed since — all in NY, at various locations.

Last year was at Val and Abbey's (where it will be again in a few days).

My then 95-year-old mom, and Abbey's then-101-year old mom, made it as well.

But this year is different, since my mom is unable to make the trek to New York. 

Yesterday I get up early. Meet Val and Abbey in Rye. And arrive at Jean and Jim's in Falmouth by 1pm. 

Aside from the absence of young kids, it is still a lively celebration. Jean makes a great turkey-less meal (since turkey will be on everyone's plate in a few days).

Even though it's not with everyone (and nice that everyone has become so many), it's a nice way to celebrate, and be thankful for, family.

you know you're too busy when...

As I've previously said, 90% of my social life probably occurs between September and December. 

Gorgeous weather. Tons of new off-broadway plays. And so many screenings. Many with Q&A's. Some even with impressive receptions and great food. I'm a member of BAFTA and I have friends who are also members of SAG. So between us, we could be doing something every night. 

I get an email from Susan inviting me to a 7pm screening with a Q&A of a film I've never heard of, Sheepdog. (Yes, some screenings are for little-known films). I decline and remind her that we have a 1pm screening the same day, at 1pm. She writes back and tells me that she had responded that she couldn't go to that one. 

Hmm. I thought she said she could. So I go back through my texts and find this.

Then, about 24 hours later, I text Susan:

So not only do I totally forget just asking her, and her just saying she couldn't, Susan also forgets just being asked, and forgets, too, that her original answer (and still the correct one) was no. 

Being too busy with stuff you like doing? A problem I like having.

33

Room all set.

New clothes in place.

A baby nurse hired for the first week.

And time to adjust (I was on maternity leave from my job at CNBC, not knowing that I'd be let go before having the chance to return).

My mom and dad drive up from the Cape as soon as Eric calls with the news that they are grandparents to their fourth grandchild, a boy, like the other three.

I was a single mom, at a time when there weren't that many. Murphy Brown was one of the few I knew of.  

I thought I was ready. And I pretty much was. 

The first few weeks were the hardest, and then it was pretty easy until about kindergarten. 

That's when I started fearing more, and questioning my abilities as a single parent. 

But I never once had any regrets. Quite the opposite. I have always felt immensely lucky that I get to be Alexander's mother. 

Sure, there were times that were tough.

His epic tantrums over the smallest thing.

The hurts I couldn't fix.

A bad nanny who wouldn't leave my house until I had to call the police.

His early friendship with a young, wild, and beyond misbehaved best friend (who was a very bad influence and could often be cruel).

The challenging teen years.

A few college grades.

And his leaving NYC for a few years to live in Philadelphia, and then Austin. 

I think the thing I was least prepared for was all the worrying that goes along with being a parent. And the worst thing is that it never ends. It just gets bigger.

• Has he chosen a career path that will make him happy?
• Will he meet and marry someone he adores?
• Will he stay living in New York?
• Will he not get distracted when driving? (I worry about this all the time).
• Will he stay safe and be careful? The world (and this city) is full of potential dangers.

Tonight his grandmother (Diane to me, Lala to my son) and I take Alexander to Sempre Oggi to celebrate his birthday. We sit down and are handed menus. It is Alexander who notices the restaurant's thoughtful touch (I added the arrow).

I haven't seen Diane in a while as she now spends most of her time in the Hamptons, though she also lives here. It is truly a magical night. Great food, conversation, and total agreement on politics (which we just couldn't avoid). Diane is clearly the most liberal of us three. She and Alexander often disagree but not tonight. 

and the winner is...

I rarely write about politics but sometimes it's just too hard to ignore.

Zohran Mamdani will be the next mayor of NYC. 

I didn't vote for him for a myriad of reasons. It doesn't matter why, because here we are. For the next four years. With a young, inexperienced, democratic socialist (which I'm still not exactly sure what that all means).

New York has become a city with a huge divide. The gulf between the uber rich and the rest of us keeps growing. Rents are making it unaffordable, especially for the young or those new to the city. My son got "very lucky" and through a friend of a friend found a tiny, fifth-floor walk-up on the Upper West Side. The one-closet apartment is nicely appointed in a great neighborhood, and is only a little over $3,000/month.

I love this city and like others, believe it might be the greatest city in the world. But it certainly has its problems, with affordability being high among them.

I do hope Mamdani is the change agent we need. That he is able to freeze rent-stabilized apartments. And that he finds a way to somehow get along with our childish, vindictive, and utterly embarrassing president.

I also hope that the major sweeps by Democrats is the impetus needed for the party to finally identify a strong and viable presidential candidate for the next national election. 

Pete Buttigieg or Josh Shapiro would be great options, but the country is probably not ready for a gay or Jewish President. Kamala? No. Who else then?

We live in a great country. But right now, its leader is harming its global image, and worse, he's harming the people who live here, every single day.

today in new york

The New York Marathon takes place on the first Sunday of November.

I live on East 79th Street, between York and First. The Marathon runs right by. It's an impressive, energetic race, through all five boroughs of the city.

My busy two-way street is closed to traffic, starting around 8am —that's long before any runners are even in sight. That means that I cannot cross First Avenue. And just about anything I would do would require that. This is non-negotiable. The police guard has their rules and won't budge. 

But there is an upside. Because this usually-trafficked street is closed, kids can now play on it without fear of cars, reckless bikers or careless delivery vehicles. 

I once missed a viewing party at a friend's house. She and her husband have a terrace overlooking the race. I couldn't cross the street to walk the two blocks to their apartment.

In 2018 I was working at Saks and almost didn't make it in. I couldn't cross the street to get to any subway or bus. And I wasn't about to walk as the job required me to be on my feet for 8 hours. That year I was lucky enough to flag down a police car and get a ride in the back seat, behind the bars.

This year I know better. 

Zelia is coming over to watch a movie, but not until late afternoon.  First Avenue should be crossable by then. 

Except it's not.

She calls me at 4. The best we can do is wave to each other.

But the cop standing next to me looks friendly. I tell him my friend is across the street. He says, "Okay. Call her and tell her she can cross. And act like you don't know me."

I call Zelia, and she complies. She weaves through the race and quickly makes it over. 

The movie we watch (Park Avenue) is awful, and we quit halfway through. But I do appreciate Z's effort to get here.