Thanksgiving

Being on the road to Blacksburg, Virginia from D.C, the fields and the beautiful scenery

reminded me of what I drew as a kid, along with others in my art class. Even though I’ve lived in

the farms and cropland of my ancestors or was simply aware of it in my unconscious memory

without deliberate reminders of its existence with frequent visits, but I realize the images I drew

were nothing to what I saw or what I knew what a field looked like. The description of the life

from anecdotes of my mother as a young student taking care of the cattle after school, or my

paternal grandfather as a farmer and landlord didn't help either.

The inanimate animals spotted as black markers on the land, the haystacks or the houses with

pointed roofs and low-rise mountains in the backdrop, with a stream of water running up and

under the land was never Punjab. Nor were the vast blue skies with pristine cotton clouds

suspended from them.

"It's time to wake up", she said as my eyes opened to be greeted by an offering of chocolate

which I smilingly accepted. As my tongue was still trying to decipher the flavor, while my eyes

traced a few letters on the otherwise torn down packaging and completed the word, 'Ghirardelli'.

But she answered my unasked question lingering in my mind and tongue as she pointed her

finger to "mango" and underlined it with a stroke of her nail. "I was wondering", I said and she

put it away.

"These have your name on it", she remarked as she handed me the grapes. I am not sure if I

shared my fondness for grapes with her earlier on this 5.25-ˇhour journey. Anyway, she is a

retired Spanish professor of 40 years at Virginia Tech. Having been born and brought up in

Central America, she spoke both Spanish and English as a kid. The language was a means to

learn new things and read about experiences of different people, she mentioned. Her artist

husband from Barcelona was 14 years older than her and could barely speak English. So,

they'd go back to Spain every summer for she felt the need for him to spend time there.

She was visiting her niece in DC for Thanksgiving where her brother and his wife also joined.

Towards the end of the journey, and as we neared our stop, she took out her little notebook and

asked my name. I spelled it for her and she double checked as she handed over her card with

her number written on the backside. "This is my landline and I don't use my cell phone often,

unless I'm on the road, in which case I don't answer. If you need anything, a ride, or a home cooked meal, call me.”