It’s pouring outside this morning and the pounding sounds are soothing. It’s the last day of November. I’m glad it’s over. November. An election month here that’s held us in a pitch of anxiety, uncertainty near despair. I’ve started to write many times but didn’t know how to describe the sensations we were experiencing here in this land of plenty.

There’s a glimmer of hope now. In fact, one of the most dreadful things about November is that the people whose candidate won did not have an opportunity to celebrate and be jubilant. All Americans no matter who or what they voted for have a right to be jubilant today. It looks like democracy in the United States is holding. The transfer of power after a scrupulously fair election will take place peacefully.

Cover image in the November issue of The New Yorker. I believe in this future.

A man of profound character and experience has been elected president. I pray for him. He will need every prayer to begin to turn this country in the right direction. It will be tough going, but I think this is incredibly the right person for the job. And Kamala Harris. Another cause for jubilation. Not only a highly accomplished woman and stunning choice for VP, but a symbol of hope for people of color and a win for women and girls. Little American girls can now aspire to the highest office in the land. It’s happened in dozens of other countries. Why are we so late?

So I am feeling more hopeful—and grateful for the judges and local leaders who’ve stood up to do the right thing (even though most national “leaders” of the other persuasion have not!) My faith in the basic strength of this nation is restored. There is so much for us to work on. A renewed recognition of the travesty of slavery and its searing impact on generations that followed is hopeful and important, and we have to keep it in the forefront of our local and national policies.

D and I did have a sweet, absolutely delicious high on Thanksgiving Day. And it’s interesting how contact with others first hand lifts us. First, I have to admit that we miss the physical presence of our sons, their wives and our grandchildren. We will not see them in person for many cold months—and the California team we haven’t seen for full year. I worry about maintaining a vital connection especially with the grandchildren. Zoom and calls are not enough.

Back to Thanksgiving, my creative funny guy saw an ad for a Thanksgiving feast at a Paella Bar on Mulberry Street in Nolita, north of Little Italy, near Soho. A Spaniard long ago told us that this was the only good paella in New York City. We used to go years back and perch at long wooden tables next to hip “kids” and pretend that we were hip. The paella platter for two or three was cooked on a wide, iron pot like a wok, with the secret ingredient hiding underneath the rice. Concolón in Panamanian lingo, it’s called socarrat in Spanish Spanish lingo. This is the crusty golden and sometimes black, chewy rice at the bottom of the pot. You can find a reference to it in my memoir At the Narrow Waist of the World on page 1!

We called Socarrat and asked if they had tables outside, and heat, and four days before the day we walked by the small bistro to check out table distancing. A lovely woman reserved “just that table” for us. And chef/owner Lolo made an award wining turkey paella that began with a sampling of five tapas. Outstanding food, but better yet were the young waiters and guests around us who were of every ethnicity you can imagine. A tiny place, packed with good will, human effort, and artistry. What could be sweeter.

I am especially thankful today for kind people, pants with soft elastic at the waist, New York City, cooks, artists, and books, medical workers, soldiers who will deliver the vaccines to the states, election workers and officials who respected the process that makes this complicated country special.

BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS:

For girls and boys between 8 and 13 who embrace every experience that comes their way (before the craziness of teenagedom). These books are poignant and fun and speak to our universal dreams.

Brown Girl Dreaming - Alison Woodson

National Book and Newberry Award winner A memoir in poems about growing up as an African-American kid in the l960s and l970s. Vivid, just beautiful!

Letters from Cuba -Ruth Behar

Pure Belpré Award. A Jewish girl of 12 escapes Poland to join her dad in Cuba and help bring the rest of her family across the ocean before the start of WWII. Told in letters by the girl that ring so authentic to me. The author also features characters from other diverse groups in Cuba.

New Kid - Jerry Craft

Won the Newberry and many other awards. This is a graphic novel, protagonist is a boy starting seventh grade in a new school where there’s little diversity, as he struggles to fit in. I haven’t read this one yet but sent it as a gift to one of my grandsons.

Small businesses are struggling to survive. If you live in the US and have access to a local bookstore, I encourage you to buy from them..

I wish you resilience and joy in December.

What are you thankful for today?