Thanksgiving

Once again, I found myself celebrating Thanksgiving in England. The first occurrence was obviously last year when I had my audition. I had arrived Wednesday afternoon, my horn was stuck in Amsterdam (where I'm sure it would have a better time than me), I needed to take a train across the country from Bristol, and the cars drove on the wrong side of the road.

Thursday morning my horn still hadn't made its way over, I needed to call and explain my situation to the school, I hadn't slept, and I was losing my mind. I got to the school, was given a horn, warmed up for 20 minutes (10 of which was spent talking with my accompanist--and I hadn't been able to play my OWN horn for the past two days), went into the audition, played my heart out, was told congratulations, returned the horn, called my family, and went to eat at a Chippy by myself.

That was Thanksgiving 2005

This year was a bit different. Already being in school, I didn't have to audition. I did have class, though. Wednesday morning, Sarah and I went to ASDA to find Turkey, corn, cranberry sauce, stuffing, gravy, green beans, and potatoes (all the staples of a proper Thanksgiving). We even bought nuts and nutcrackers (I move Nancy would later abhor at the site of the carpet littered with nut-bits).The bus never came so we took a taxi, which was cheaper than expected.

Thursday Sarah insisted on cooking, which was fine because I needed to be at school for a lunch-time concert and my class was conveniently placed from 1700-1830. Afterwards, I walked with Yvonne, an American flutist, back to the house (directions are so complicated, its generally better to just take people there--left, right, left, right, etc., etc.)

We had about 10-12 people there total (some left early, some arrived late). Everything was ravaged, making it the first Thanksgiving I can remember without leftovers (even last year I didn't eat the mushy peas). The night wore on, and I finally headed to bed about 3(!) My stupid body woke me up at 9, so I could come back down and survey the damage. I'll leave it to your imagination.

Friday evening saw a similar event, with me being an invitee. The American/Canadian flutists (I think there are 3-4) had their own party, which Yvonne graciously invited me. So I imagine my surplus of Turkey this year was God atoning for my fish and chips last November.

The rest of the weekend has gone on without incident. Yesterday Sarah and I visited Nancy at work, a pub called The Old Monkey. There we had a local bitter called Joseph Holt. Today I discovered (via Nancy) a marginal-if-best soap opera called Hollyoaks. I don't suspect my practicing will be a victim of it.

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