It was Thanksgiving day in Ensenada, Mexico and I was surprised to see that all the world wasn't celebrating Thanksgiving. The holiday that I had looked forward to all year. I LOVE turkey and gravy and stuffing. I especially love turkey sandwiches the next day. But there was nary a sign of Thanksgiving anywhere. No pilgrim hats. No cornucopias. No nothing. And no one even seemed to care.
Here I was instead, walking the streets of Ensenada, going into shop after shop after shop. Secretly looking for a turkey.
And when I mentioned it to Elizabeth, she reminded me that mexico doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving.
And you know what? I respected that. I was completely fine with that. And I certainly didn't want Mexico to change its' ways just for me.
I decided right then and there that I would have my Thanksgiving feast when I returned home. The stores would still have canned gravy and cranberry sauce available. And store-bought dressing could be good, too.
That American holiday didn't have to be celebrated exactly on Thanksgiving Day. Nope, it didn't. And it gave me something to look forward to. Something worth returning home to. Something special to my own country.
And what have we learned here? I don't need to force my own traditions on other countries. I only need to return to my roots when I'm wanting a little piece of home.