And A Multicultural Thanksgiving For All

Droning the same four questions to everyone at the front desk ("Are you a member? What's your surname? What's your first name? What's your address?"), I often lull myself into a stupor. Nothing wakes me up faster, however, than hearing a foreign accent--or better yet, a foreign language. I go from uninterested to perky in a matter of miliseconds, and the post-foreigner grin lasts a while. At least till the next boring customer.

This time it was two gentlemen conversing in a language I couldn't place. Not that I'm very good at it, but I can usually tell the main ones (French, Spanish, German) or at least the geographic area (Eastern Europe). Nope; nothing. They finally came over to be rung up, and one of their names was Martinez, from Bilbao. I had to ask. "What language are you speaking?" I queried. "Euskera," one man replied.

They were Basques! My very first ones! I've been fascinated by the Basque language since an early Linguistics course where I learned that Basque is a language isolate--one of the few languages in the world not related to any other language. It's postulated Basque might pre-date Indo-European, and thus Basques could be the remnant of an earlier wave of immigration than everyone else in Europe and the Middle East. How utterly fascinating!

I asked if they would like to have a separate Basque homeland. "Yes, tomorrow!" one cried. They spoke to me for a few minutes on how overlooked the Basques are: there are many Basque surnames that everyone thinks Spanish, and Goya was a Basque. Bringing up how Basques were immediately under suspicion after the attacks, I was told with a sigh of resignation, "We are always under suspicion." However, they believe France and Spain are too big to try to wage a war against.

Turning to go, the gentleman with less English spoke to his friend in Basque, saying "Translate for her." The other man turned to me with these parting words, encapsulating the Basque mentality:
"We endure, we win."


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It's all I can do to contain my excitement at going home tonight. True to Wise Family tradition, we're having a foreigner over for our Thanksgiving feast: I'm bringing home my Parisian friend. He's never celebrated an American holiday before, least of all the culinary delight that is my mother's from-scratch cooking. So he's excited, and I'm excited--also because a friend from St. Louis is driving up with my brother. Tomorrow will be a full house, with two aunts, an uncle, and two cousins coming over as well. And I can't wait!

The rest of the weekend promises to be amazing fun as well: my best friend and her new fiance(!) are coming down from Minneapolis on Friday, and we're going out to dinner with our old high school group of friends. Two girls and eight guys; it's always fun. Saturday I have to come back into Chicago, because a good friend and I are hanging out--we might rendezvous with one of our old co-workers for an "apartment crawl." What this entails, I'm not sure, but knowing my friends I'll have a fabulous evening.

More later, after the holidays, including a full job report.