nothing for thanksgiving

Oddly enough, we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving over here in Europe. Nevertheless, most of my friends from home (America) expect to see me over the holiday and ask if I am having turkey dinner on Thursday night. The answer is no. For Thanksgiving this year, I worked, went to yoga, then ate two cookies and drank a spot of tea for dinner.

And when I say no, nothing for thanksgiving, people feel really sorry for me. Honestly (mom and dad cover your eyes), I could care less. That’s right; Thanksgiving is not my favorite holiday. Neither turkey nor (American) football is all that appealing and so the dinner – while it does make a house smell amazing – is not the end all be all. Yes, there are the "sides," but green beans and pumpkin pie won’t send you into a food coma on the couch; and there is nothing like being taunted while rummaging in the refrigerator for lettuce leftovers to make you more annoyed than thankful: eating again? How could you possibly put more in your stomach??

Not to mention, it is stressful, this Thanksgiving business. Getting the bird from the store into the home into the oven onto the table. So much running around, so much family drama, so many people and personalities and emotions smooshed into a confined space on one, single day.

Living abroad, I am thankful that I do not have to contend with Thanksgiving. But I do miss the day after. This day right now: Friday. When America is placid and no one is working until Monday. When all the newspapers are running stories about what it means to give thanks and the columnists are personal about poverty, hunger, and war.

We get a lot of holidays here in Spain. And Europe is far more advanced than the United States when it comes to vacation days, thus promoting health, production, and creativity. But this November holiday is something the United States gets right. Take a look at Facebook and you will find thoughtful updates from friends about for what and whom they are thankful, their reasons for happiness, why we should remember those less fortunate. Not a single work-related email has arrived in my inbox from America since Wednesday night, and I won’t dare lob one across the ocean until Monday.

For many, Thanksgiving is a proper holiday of relief and a legitimate excuse to do absolutely nothing but be with the ones you love. It’s the nothing that I miss about Thanksgiving.

The Meaning of Signs

The first thing you notice is that her movements are tidy, businesslike, and efficient. In fact, the only thing you really see are her hands. And when the two people at the front of the audience simultaneously move their eyes from her to the slides, she stops moving altogether. I, on the other hand, cannot keep my eyes off her. Nor can I stop watching her replacement – a younger girl who tires after ten minutes because, my guess is, she uses her entire body. She even employs her face to relay the verbal place-holders (uhhhh) and grimaces Christopher Poole uses when he cannot find the words to describe his ridiculously popular image board website. And when the words do come, they are obscure packages like “Internet meme” and “online handles.” Even the commonplace “servers and bandwidth” seems daunting in the land of signage. As someone who, just the other week, accidentally said “mesa” instead of “mes” I cannot fathom finding the words to translate a presentation about the origin of 4chan and Canvas…with my hands.

The New York Times says that Poole is a successful public speaker, but that is being kind. Surely, in a year’s time he will be a star but on this day he stands in one place, he flops his hands around, he suffers from dry mouth. It’s the content that sells. the content underneath the delivery. (coupled with the draw of getting a look at this 23 year old who created, from his boyhood bedroom, the Internet’s next big thing.)

As luck would have it, the third signer is a mix of the previous two: she is not as calm as the first, nor is she as passionate or desperate as the last.

I am at the front for these things (particularly in a large crowd such as this) because it is common knowledge that sitting at the front of the class helps you hear, see, and understand the content. And clearly I get distracted; because this whole sign language thing begets the contemplation of how we access and digest meaning.

Not only do our words create a thin veil over the value we attempt to communicate, but these signers demonstrate (for how else can they do it?) that our bodies likewise get in the way. Here were three examples – ranging from cold to moderate to effusive and I’m hard pressed to claim that one surpasses the other.

I would have loved to have asked the two deaf audience goers their opinion. Do you prefer a translator who is over the top or muted? How about somewhere in between? At what point is personality necessary and when does it get distracting?

Perhaps it is simply a matter of taste. We choose people to be part of our lives based on what works for us. Because, surely we are all translators for one another in this world. And the trick is to find others who render what they see, hear, touch, taste, and know in a way we can understand. On a limb, it is arguable that “meaning” in the world is one singular thing cut into pieces, dispersed, then multiplied in its various moving parts. Everything headed in separate directions.

Of course, if we all understood each other perfectly, the world would be a simple, uncomplicated place. Misunderstandings keep the world from being boring, keep our lives beautiful and interesting and new because we must forever endeavor to find ways to understand.

I can do without the straightforward translation. On the other hand, I want a fighting chance to know my own meaning of the world.

But, that’s just me.