The staff of The Hotel arrived in Venice five and a half years ago, during the summer of 2005. When it came time for Thanksgiving, the three of us decided it would be better to stay in Los Angeles for the holiday. We invited old friends and new friends and hosted our very first Hotel Homeless Thanksgiving – a celebration for all those who either couldn’t go home to family or decided against to sit down and eat a very large meal.
As a joke, I put together a call sheet listing the day’s schedule and what everyone was bringing, in case any of our attendees didn’t know what was happening that day. It worked out pretty well and the meal and the event was a complete success. Johnny and I basted the turkey a little too much, and the pan overflowed and caused the gas stove to smoke up something fierce. We couldn’t even see a foot in front of our faces the smoke was so thick. This began the tradition of Johnny, Roger, and I hosting Thanksgiving every year since (the call sheet has since gone the way of the dodo). Every year we have had different dishes, different attendees, and different after meal activities, but there was always one constant: one giant as turkey. Johnny hunts down the biggest turkey possible, with no regard to how many people were actually going to partake.
Traditions begin and end every year. Grandparents pass away, children move, relationships change – there are many reasons why traditions are born and die. For us, it was to save money since we had only recently moved into the new apartment. Tradition is a funny thing, especially when you watch one change. Every year on Xmas eve, my family eats the same seven-course meal. It’s steeped in Polish religious tradition. Sadly, once my grandmother moves on, the meal might not be cooked again, being replaced with different foods, with the single remaining bond being that we all sit down together as an extended family and enjoy each other’s company and gorge ourselves until we pass out watching ELF.
This was the last Thanksgiving with all three original members still living under the same roof. However, the tradition we all share, gorging ourselves to the point of paralysis, will most definitely continue on. Nothing can replace the fun we have waking up early to lather up a thirty pound bird with fake butter, sitting around watching football all day, baking dairy-free pumpkin pie, and making dirty jokes involving a thawed out turkey neck. The tradition may alter itself in someway, maybe the location, or one of us will have a family, but the central core ritual will always remain.
May your day be filled with a full stomach, the love of family, and company of friends.
Happy Thanksgiving everybody.
But take my advice; you'll have to bury me twice ‘cause the first time I won't rest easily… But don't let die still wondering what it was I left behind…
