Looking out my Backdoor: Pardon my turkey

One of the many things I have come to respect about the Mexican culture, the Mexican people, is their ability to celebrate. Times may seem grim and the larder near empty, but they somehow will scrape together beans, tortillas, tomatoes and peppers, gather family and neighbors into their homes to share a feast, and maybe even shoot off a few fireworks, always with music in the background, even if from a radio. Remember radio?

We, my friends, in our country, seem to have whipped ourselves up into a real mashed potato mess, appear to be in several varieties of a “pickle,” may think no amount of sugar and marshmallows can redeem the yams, despite all this, we could take a page from the book of “Be Happy” from our southern neighbors.

Celebrate. Celebrate that it is snowing. Or that it is not snowing. Or that the water pipes didn’t freeze. Or that you woke up breathing. Or that you have leftovers.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day. Most of you, my friends, cooked up a big family dinner, turkey or not, with all the trimmings. How many times have I heard you say, “The best thing about Thanksgiving is the leftovers the next day?”

Yep. So how about we pile the goodies and build a sandwich, throw on a gob of cranberry sauce, squeeze a slice of pumpkin pie onto the plate, and deliver it to a neighbor, a friend, or, even better, an enemy. (Try that last one, just once.)

Deliver the plate with a few words suggesting that it feels good to celebrate gratitude more often than one day a year, and what better way than with the best of the leftovers, so, here, share with me.

Throughout the year, I might find occasion to share more plates. Just a suggestion. Maybe my chosen recipient throws my offering in the compost bin when I turn my back. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that it sure made me feel good to prepare the plate with my best, just cooked or leftover, no matter, decorated with a sprig of cilantro or rosemary or mint, and share it with a smile.

If we all do something like this once in a while, I guarantee, life will look less messy; will seem just that little bit more kind and gentle. Me, I’m selfish. I do this for me to feel good.

Don’t worry. Be happy. Would you like gravy over your sandwich or in a dish to the side?

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].