I know that all Americans feel a certain amount of nostalgia when thinking about the first Thanksgiving:
The Pilgrims
and Indians,
The Turkey
and yams.
The football,
and fighting.
The tense silence, and then the purchasing of land with bees.
No wait. I meant beads.
Every year, the same traditions passed down through generations, all commemorating those three fateful ships...
The Pita,
The Rita,
and the Santa Maria.
They first docked that moonlit night thousands of years ago, at that place so close to where we now live, that has its own special place in our hearts (out here), and that people who don't live out east can't know anything about. The magic of it, the majesty, the wonder of how three ships could make it down 5th Ave and find that first American resting place, 30 Rock.
Well, it was a miracle that's what. And isn't that what Thanksgiving's all about? Miracles?
The Pilgrims
and Indians,
The Turkey
and yams.
The football,
and fighting.
The tense silence, and then the purchasing of land with bees.
No wait. I meant beads.
Every year, the same traditions passed down through generations, all commemorating those three fateful ships...
The Pita,
The Rita,
and the Santa Maria.
They first docked that moonlit night thousands of years ago, at that place so close to where we now live, that has its own special place in our hearts (out here), and that people who don't live out east can't know anything about. The magic of it, the majesty, the wonder of how three ships could make it down 5th Ave and find that first American resting place, 30 Rock.
Well, it was a miracle that's what. And isn't that what Thanksgiving's all about? Miracles?
~P
