Today is the fourth Thursday in November, so for me and millions of others, that means only one thing: Thanksgiving. A day for giving thanks and feasting. A day to tease our British friends that we’re celebrating our independence from them.
But living as an American in the UK as I do, these high days and holy days bring not only joy but a corresponding ache as I’m away from family and friends. On Thanksgiving I feel the loss of feasting around a table heaving with turkey, stuffing, and gravy and of enjoying the friendship and lively conversation that ensues. Of course I understand why the British don’t celebrate this holiday, but I’m grateful that St Paul’s Cathedral hosts us for a meaningful Thanksgiving service each year.
Living today, I enjoy a mobility never imagined by the Pilgrims. My seven-hour airplane ride is a blip compared with their five-month journey across the choppy Atlantic in 1620. Their journey on the Mayflower was desperate. The ship was designed for carrying cargo, not passengers. And the cabin where they slept was intended for thirty people, not eighty. Their food rotted and was infested with insects; they nearly drowned when the ship’s main beam cracked; they endured ridicule from the sailors.To read the rest of the blog, pop on over to Tania Vaughan’s “Best of British Women” blogs. (Yes, I’m British!)