Yesterday morning, November 25, 2010, I took Metro North Train to Connecticut from Grand Central Terminal. As expected, a good friend of mind , Dan and his wife Meggie with Buck, the family's Russian Wolfhound pet, were already waiting for me at the train station to pick me up.
It was so good to see Dan' family again. Last time I saw them was this summer when I threw a welcome-party to my visiting parents at my rental house in East Hampton. Dan, Maggie, Buck were on my guest's list. Then, Buck was just a curious and hyper little puppy who made my female guests excited and off-guarded in a good way include my own mom. Now, he seems being transformed into a big boy dog, much mature and behaved. On the way to their home, Dan told me that they sent Buck to a special dog training school to learn how to discipline himself. I joked I wish my parents should have send me to this school when I was a young lad, every one on the SUV laughed out my remarks except Buck. Maybe he thought my joke was not funny or unfair because of at-his-expense.
After weighing all of the pros and cons, I decided to join Dan's family and his in-laws for the Thanksgiving dinner party. Although it was a last minute decision, It turned out to be a good one. First, less than one hour MNRR train ride relaxed me quite a bit since early holiday's sceneries in the towns along the rails were kinda “romantic”. (Driving on jammed I-95 north on Thanksgiving day morning would be definitely uncool). Second, I was glad that I don't have to meet my “blind date” (well, it is not exactly a blind date per se, I met the Vampire Zoe before.) arranged by Nick and Kate at the supposedly stress-free Thanksgiving dinner. Third, Dan's mom and his sister-in-law turned out to be surprisingly talented chefs, they gave the family and guests a parade of well-made and delicious dishes that smoothly married spices and savory together and produced stunning tastes. For instance, the homemade fresh raspberry tart was heavenly rich with balanced ingredient profiles, and the fresh baked souffle was as superb as the ones from La Grenouille. I was really stuffed and “intoxicated” as so did others, too.
Chatting with Dan with a glass of Manhattan-On-Rocks made from fine sottish single malt whiskey at hand in his den, I was suddenly washed away by a sense of strange irony: At the end of the day, the real “stuffed Turkey”of the thanksgiving appear not the roasted center piece but us. Noticing my dazedness, Dan asked me “Is anything preying on your mind ?” I answered , “Yes, but it will soon die from starvation, though.” Dan smiled, asking me with his curious nature, “really, why ?” “Because my mind is empty.” I replied. We both laughed hard.
Dan, Maggie and Buck saw me off this early morning at the train station so that I was still able to get in my office before 7:30AM. Many American who often label people from the street as the greedy and ruthless bunch of reapers may go shopping or staying in warm bed after their holiday feasts but we have to go to work for the markets still opened today, and the show must go on as they say.
When the train started moving, I waved to Dan and Maggie who held Buck in her chest on the platform, shaking Bucks' pow to the pulling-away train as if it was his hand . With darkness and rain mist as the the backdrop, the lamp posts on the station platform suffused soft lights on their faces, making them looked so far away, yet so tangible to feel. I was smiling inside of my mind, “So long, guys, thanks for your hospitality that made my thanksgiving day enjoyable. Buck, please don't grow too fast, ok?”
