Simple Living with Wanda Urbanska

Wanda's Diary Entries

Monday, November 30, 2009

So what’s an American to do about Thanksgiving when she’s spending her sabbatical in Poland? My suggestion: reach out to as many people as you can (especially Americans) and pray for an invitation. We were blessed with three of them, plus a pot-luck at our church away from home.

However, the day before our big American celebration feast, our Thanksgiving get-together was cancelled. (I decided against making an eleventh-hour call to the second person who’d invited us to say we were free after all.) So Henry and I ended up eating a roast turkey and vegetable dinner by candlelight in our home in Bielany. The food was tasty but as Henry and I are both “people people,” we found the company a bit slim.

The disappointment over Thursday added to my anticipation of the Saturday event. I had met the host, Laura Klos Sokol, a fellow author, business trainer and native of Michigan, a few times at our children’s school, but our plans to meet for coffee had never materialized. So imagine my surprise (and delight!) upon receiving an email inviting us to Thanksgiving dinner. We were to bring a green salad.

I have to be honest. Saturday had not started out well. Henry’s hopes for a fun day, a distraction before having to turn his mind to his school transfer the following Tuesday, had not materialized. We were both was on edge, spinning in a downward cycle of disappointment about things not going the way we’d planned, about time wasted. I made the mistake of complaining to him about something, which effectively opened a floodgate of complaints from him. Probably the root of it all was a sense of a homesickness that neither of us expressed — a malady which can strike hard during the holidays.

Even as we were walking toward our hosts’ home in the Mokotow section of Warsaw on Saturday night, carrying a box with salad, flowers and a Polish book of aphorisms for Laura’s daughter Olivia, Henry couldn’t think of one good thing to say about Poland, or our time here. And he was laying on me every negative conceivable.

So when we began the climb up the stairs to their place and were greeted by the aroma of turkey and stuffing and holiday cheer, believe me, these familiar smells had never been more welcome. Or welcoming.

Within minutes of arrival, there was a glass of red wine in my hand, introductions all around, and my eyes were feasting on an amazing spread. The turkey, expertly carved by Laura’s gregarious Polish husband Marek, was exquisite, and it came with all the trimmings: stuffing, cranberry sauce, green bean salad, mashed potatoes and gravy.

Standing in their large and well-appointed home, we met the couple’s lovely circle: Marek’s sister Kasia, a Martha Stewart look-alike who works at the American embassy, Vlad, a Romanian colleague of Laura’s with a large appetite and sharp wit, and several others including Laura and Marek’s delightful nine year old daughter.

After we’d eaten, Laura invited us to give thanks round the table, one by one. What a delightful custom! Laura herself offered appreciation for her solid and happy marriage of 20 years, for the blessings of prosperity, which she noted could be taken away at any moment. I expressed happiness for my time in Poland and my pride over how well the nation is doing today, after just twenty years of freedom. Another guest drew laughter from the table by giving thanks not only for her horse, but that it had just taken a “poop.” (I don’t know a lot about it, but I can only assume that horses suffer from constipation, too.)

After dinner, completed by a scrumptuous chocolate cake and hot tea, Laura loaded Henry and me down with leftovers — enough turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and chocolate cake to stretch to several meals. We all vowed to get together soon.

“You are welcome in my home anytime,” our hostess told us. You can tell that Laura is a person who says what she means and means what she says.

No doubt about it, the dark spell of the day had been broken by this magical Thanksgiving celebration. Without a vehicle here in Warsaw, each car trip seems like an indescribable luxury, and we were able to extend the evening even more by accepting Kasia’s gracious offer to drive us home.

The next day was a good one. And today, another day of turkey sandwiches, even better. Laura’s version of the legendary Polish hospitality — extended to us newcomers — warmed our hearts and made all the many adjustments that much easier. Henry hasn’t griped once about having to start at a new school tomorrow. For that, I tip my hat to my new friend in Warsaw.