even more thanksgiving
Monday, 27. November 2006, 11:59:24
Sunday night I went to a colleague's for Thanksgiving at their home in a nearby suburb with his family and a few people from the office.
On the train I ran into another couple going to the party and we wandered the picturesque neighborhood, chatting and getting lost together. A short conversation with a passing motorist cleared up our location and, with luck, we found the unlit and nearly unmarked pedestrian path down aged wooden stairs that put us on the proper road.
The evening was lovely. His (our host's) in-laws have been in the home for quite some time and it was filled with well used furniture, layers of rugs, curios, a much used leather wingback chair sat squarely in front of the fireplace. The dining room, dark red walls hung with etchings of the Bergen harbor, was filled to capacity. There were children and 30 somethings and an older man who had travelled widely, read extensively, and makes his own black currant jam.
We had turkey and lingonberries and sweet potatoes and stuffing and "American Blend" (corn, peas, and diced carrots). There were homemade cookies, pumpkin pie, and ice cream. I made a swedish apple pie that seems to have been a success with the guests.
From what I could tell the variety of first-languages included English, Norwegian, Swedish, Spanish, and Italian but the number of languages known by various guests far exceeded that. This seemed fitting. My family is entirely entangled and enmeshed with a family from Costa Rica and we always end up talking about language at holiday gatherings.
The family dog, an eight year old short haired pointer, nuzzled each visitor and begged successfully for attention and unsuccessfully for food. Our hosts and the puppy joined us on our walk back to the train, which we very nearly missed. It took a mad dash at the end to reach the last car just before it pulled away. We fell into the seats panting, a bit exhausted from our full-bellied sprint.
The walk home from the train station was lovely. Chistmas lights are starting to appear above the streets; it was clear and crisp. At one point I passed two girls, one with red devil horns, the other with a halo, otherwise dressed quite normally. Once back to my still-smelling-of-apples-and-cinnamon apartment, it was nice to sit by the window, read for a bit, and have a cup (or two or three) of tea.
On the train I ran into another couple going to the party and we wandered the picturesque neighborhood, chatting and getting lost together. A short conversation with a passing motorist cleared up our location and, with luck, we found the unlit and nearly unmarked pedestrian path down aged wooden stairs that put us on the proper road.
The evening was lovely. His (our host's) in-laws have been in the home for quite some time and it was filled with well used furniture, layers of rugs, curios, a much used leather wingback chair sat squarely in front of the fireplace. The dining room, dark red walls hung with etchings of the Bergen harbor, was filled to capacity. There were children and 30 somethings and an older man who had travelled widely, read extensively, and makes his own black currant jam.
We had turkey and lingonberries and sweet potatoes and stuffing and "American Blend" (corn, peas, and diced carrots). There were homemade cookies, pumpkin pie, and ice cream. I made a swedish apple pie that seems to have been a success with the guests.
From what I could tell the variety of first-languages included English, Norwegian, Swedish, Spanish, and Italian but the number of languages known by various guests far exceeded that. This seemed fitting. My family is entirely entangled and enmeshed with a family from Costa Rica and we always end up talking about language at holiday gatherings.
The family dog, an eight year old short haired pointer, nuzzled each visitor and begged successfully for attention and unsuccessfully for food. Our hosts and the puppy joined us on our walk back to the train, which we very nearly missed. It took a mad dash at the end to reach the last car just before it pulled away. We fell into the seats panting, a bit exhausted from our full-bellied sprint.
The walk home from the train station was lovely. Chistmas lights are starting to appear above the streets; it was clear and crisp. At one point I passed two girls, one with red devil horns, the other with a halo, otherwise dressed quite normally. Once back to my still-smelling-of-apples-and-cinnamon apartment, it was nice to sit by the window, read for a bit, and have a cup (or two or three) of tea.
