Yes, that’s right: the French do not celebrate Thanksgiving. I mean, really, why should they? Why do we in the US just assume that everyone shares every holiday we feast up? But still, I manage to need reminding that there is no official day of giving thanks here. I know this, but it slips my mind on occasion. But I give thanks for the fact that it still does not go overlooked.
We did not celebrate the actual Thursday of Thanksgiving, other than taking chocolates to French class to share with my fellow students. Most are north African ladies, so it was a novel concept to them! We did, however, have a gracious invitation from a couple from church to celebrate with them Friday night. We were part of a party of 26, and it was so joyful! We brought sweet potato pie and roasted carrots. Our hostess, an American with a New Zealander spouse, roasted the largest turkey I have ever seen. It actually fed us all! My favorite part was the inclusion of two French couples whom the host and hostess had befriended some time ago back home in Washington, DC., who later moved to the Toulouse area, too. It is a small world with many intersections!
On a more mundane note, my sweet spouse has become a city commuter. To avoid traffic, parking nightmares, and to allow me transportation, he has become a bus rider. He leaves early in the morning to catch his bus, walking about 10 minutes to the stop. He often shares his dry wit in observations of his fellow French commuters on his facebook status. And I love that his stylin’ hat and scarf came from our own ville’s Dimanche Marché. I’m sending him off into the dark morning, and won’t see him again until the dark evening, though.
Maybe someday we’ll get to enjoy some of that relaxed French workweek.