Cam On for Turkey Day

by aengelson | November 27th, 2009

Happy (belated) Thanksgiving!

Thanks to everyone who sent well wishes–we miss being back with family and friends during Joanie and my favorite holiday of the year.

Celebrating Thanksgiving with new friends in Hanoi.

Celebrating Thanksgiving with new friends in Hanoi.

We did have a wonderful Thanksgiving evening, thanks to some new friends–Americans who work at the U.S. embassy and have two daughters about Fiona and Matilda’s age. They cooked up an authentic turkey dinner (a perk of being with the embassy is being able to order imported American turkeys from the commissary!). Mashed potatoes, gravy, pumpkin pie and their family specialty, tomato soup cake. Good company and a great meal. Thanks!

But we sure missed being with Kim & Craig & Garrett, Nana & Farfar, Grammy & Grampa, Katy & Ralph, and Mary & Robert. And all our Seattle and Chelan friends. But we’re very thankful for the healthy, happy, and fascinating life we live now.

Happy Thanksgiving!

One Response to “Cam On for Turkey Day”

  1. We miss you guys! But we are thankful to have you in our lives, even if you’re half a world away. Thank god for Skype. And we are thankful you are experiencing wonderful and amazing things there, meeting new people, learning a new language, and basically having a daily adventure!

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About This Site

Andy Engelson is a writer and editor who lives in Hanoi, Vietnam. He's currently working on a historical novel set in the Northwest United States during World War II. He's also a freelance writer, essayist and member of the Hanoi Writer's Collective. In a former life, he edited Washington Trails magazine for six years and before that was freelance journalist. He likes to hike, travel, and play with his family.

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I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip. And the highest enjoyment of timelessness — in a landscape selected at random — is when I stand among rare butterflies and their food plants. This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something else, which is hard to explain. It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone. A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern — to the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender ghosts humoring a lucky mortal. — Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory

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