Thanksgiving

Yeah, I know, there are millions of U.S. bloggers putting up their own version of Thanksgiving Day, what it means to them, some waxing rhapsodic, some blurring the line betwixt and between pathos and bathos, some just giving a laundry list of the impressive things they have or soon will have eaten on this day. Is my version any different? No. It is, however, mine, and as this blog is all about my narcissistic self, I don't see any reason to deviate from that formula.

In the past few years, even when overseas, I have been around a large enough critical mass of Americans that we are able to scrounge up a turkey and then some. This time last year I baked a pumpkin cheesecake (I am a pretty decent cook, just don't like to do it that often) which we had at a friend's place (Brian, I am thinking about you and yours -- hope you all are well). Lots of food, companionship, some good Australian wine (red for me, thanks), in all a pleasant day. The other Thanksgivings have, mirrored that pattern, with more or less people (and more or less food), thrown into the mix.

I did not expect much this year. The critical mass of Americans is not present here at Kiwi Base, at the PRT in Bamyan. The Kiwis have done a great job in being gracious hosts, but this is their shop, and they do things their way. (Work will largely shut down if there is an All Blacks' rugby match tomorrow. You should've seen the place when NZ played England, the top two teams in the world, last week.) Since we don't procure or prepare our own food, I expected another nice meal of lamb, roast, broiled peppers, waxy beans, salad, and some dessert in a big stainless steel serving tray. Note: I am NOT, repeat, NOT complaining about the food! They guys do a great job here. It's just that the usual good stuff would not be, well, Thanksgiving good stuff. You know.

More to the point, this group of Kiwis is engaged in its endgame. They will be departing soon, and turning things over to Crib 7. (No, I don't know why they call it a Crib -- I also don't know why in the diplomatic corps we are organized into cones. Sometimes it is better not to ask, and just crack open another beer.) The advance party for the new Crib was coming on Thursday, so everything was about getting the camp ready for handover.

Once we heard the advance party was close, we began doing our powhiri practice, the kapa haka greeting/challenge that Maori warriors give to visiting tribes. (I think I described this ritual in an earlier entry. If not, I am sure I will mention it again.) It was COLD! Here it is, dusk, the temperature is dropping faster than a four-year old holding fine china, I can't feel my extremities (don't go there), and all we are doing is WAITING. Military life involves a lot of waiting around, hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait. At this stage, we will be lucky if the food is even warm, never mind what it actually is.

The vanguard of the advance party arrives (vehicle issues have delayed the rest). We do the haka (I still don't have all the moves down cold, but I did have the scary tongue and eyes going well), there are speeches by our Commander and their Commander in Maori, (could've been in English, I still would not have heard them), we greeted everybody, men nose to nose, women pecks on the cheek, the whole nine yards. (Aside: I understand that the phrase comes from when 50 cal. machine gunners would go through their entire bullet string. The string is 27 feet long, hence, the whole 9 yards.)

Ok, can we at least get in line for chow now? Well, the Kiwis have not forgotten the day. They are letting the Americans get in line first, which, given that the patrols are back in and these guys EAT, is a nice touch.

Turns out, we are not in a line at all, but have our own table set up. Then the piece de resistance -- Houston, we have bird!!! Holy moly, they managed to track down some turkey. (I suppose in retrospect it is not that surprising -- Bamyan does not have the critical mass of Americans, but Bagram Airbase certainly does, and that is where all the food transits.) And did a heluva job with it, too! Most of us all remember Aunt XXX's turkey, pretty, but like the Mojave on the inside. I usually eat dark meat so I don't have to face that disappointment. Here, even the white meat was juicy!! I am just so impressed. We did a number on that bird, although nothing like that woman who won the turkey eating contest on Wednesday. (Some 100 lb. woman is the #2 ranked competitive eater in the world, she ate an entire 10 lb. turkey in under 12 minutes. I'm scared.) They even managed to come up with pumpkin and pecan pie!! As the Southerner, I had to go for the pecan, but neither one lasted very long. I have to give the Kiwis their props -- they rolled out the red carpet for us in a big way, and did it right.

So, what am I thankful for? Umm, the food, obviously. :) Ok, switching gears, I am thankful I have a wonderful, beautiful wife to share my life journey with (at least, after this year, that is), who can put up with my various insecurities and BS. I am thankful that my friends and family, after so much trauma and heartache this year with Rita and Katrina, seem to be ok. Not a great year for lots of Louisiana natives, but we all know we are better off than some of our fellow citizens. I am thankful I have my health (I'm not in the kind of shape I want to be in, yet, but I keep getting better). I am thankful to all the men and women in uniform, from all the nations, who are out there on the line this day protecting us. Perhaps more than anything else, I am thankful I am out here with a military force that cares about its own, whether its own are Kiwi, Brit, Aussie (well, maybe not so much the Aussies!), Afghan, and yes, even Ugly American. Today I am part of the Bamyan PRT family. Sure, it sounds corny, but it is true. This place is home.

Here's hoping your Thanksgiving went well, wherever you are. Peace.