Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Max is off to Tulsa to spend the holiday with his father and friends; Lexi is heading to Connecticut where she will share the day with Ryan’s family; Curtis and I are gathering here in Jakarta for our 4th annual Expat Thanksgiving. Along with other friends living here without children, guests include singles in town for business and non-American friends we think might enjoy the celebration.

Last year, Shona Mason, a South African and first time Thanksgiving ritual participant, did her homework prior to arriving. “What about the Indians?” she asked. “The Pilgrims wouldn’t have survived without them. Seems to me on Thanksgiving, the Pilgrims need to treat the Indians.” Thus a new Thanksgiving tradition was born. Shona and I cut up papers. We wrote Pilgrim on half of them and Indians on the rest then dropped them into a hat. Because we are who we are by accident of birth, each attendee drew to see if he or she would be a Pilgrim or an Indian.

By way of thanks, the Pilgrims served the Indians dessert and entertained them with an impromptu song called, “No Place Like Jakarta for the Holidays.” This small recognition was all in fun, but behind it is truth that should be recognized especially now: We owe so much to those who do for us, give for us, pave the way, make our world comfortable, safe, welcoming. While clinking glasses and gobbling gobblers this Thanksgiving, it feels good to take time to say thanks.

One group who deserve our gratitude are soldiers. Regardless of our own personal beliefs regarding these political conflicts, these soldiers and their families jeapordize their comfort and security for us.

Go to this website and do a great thing this Thanksgiving: www.LetsSayThanks.com. Send a card to those in our military. Whether you support the war(s) or not, these people are miles away from their families on Thanksgiving. Show them some love!

Give Thanks with warm hearts. Happy Thanksgiving, Kelly

Languages are not Curtis’s strong suit. But usually, by using a combination of gestures, hand signals, other words and by rephrasing he can make himself understood. Over the phone, names, especially his name, seem to be extremely difficult to get across. In Indonesian, the letter “C” is pronounced “Ch” and the hard “C” sound is indicated by using the letter “K.” If it were me, I would probably settle for having my name spelled “Kurtes” and pronounced correctly. But Curtis, being Curtis–the same Curtis who once told me “no, no one does call him or has called him ‘Curt,’ except for this father, that is, and his father is dead”–is very particular about his name.  So, in his ongoing battle to be understood, and correctly understood, Curtis has copied down the International Letter Code—two versions—and uses them when spelling out names.

The other afternoon, thinking himself very clever, Curtis pulled out his International Letter Code to make a dinner reservation. “The name is Curtis. Curtis, as in Charlie-Uncle-Roger… and Bennett, spelled Bravo-Echo…”

When we arrived at the restaurant later, the maître de asked if we had a reservation. “Yes,” Curtis replied. Before he could begin to give his name, the maître de smiled:

“Oh, yes. Mr. Charlie, right this way…”

The International Letter Code worked so well, Curtis plans to use it when making all future reservations. From now on he’s going as Charlie Bravo.

Last Saturday, because I wasn’t wearing my reading glasses, I misread a name in a magazine. I though the name was Tru-something. Curtis laughed and corrected me. That was that. I haven’t a clue what the correct name was, who it belonged to, or why I read it. But I recall thinking what a powerful name True was. What it said about a parent who would name his/her child True. And what it would be like to have to grow up with and into that name the way the man in the Johnny Cash “my name is Sue/how do you do/you’re gonna die” song did. I tucked the name in my I’m-going-to-use-that-someday brain file.

Today, this morning, I was milling about, making calls, eating, drinking coffee, printing things, doing everything but pulling up the file with Otter Song to continue revisions, because I really, really didn’t want to work on it anymore. I had reached a place where I was just sick of the whole mess. As far as I was concerned Lena, her mother, the otter and aquarium and the entire coast of California could crack off the way everyone is always threatening it will and I would have cheered. Damn the zillion hours and years I have already put into this story.

Finally, when there was absolutely nothing more I could pretend needed doing beside work, I opened the Otter Song file. Nothing had changed. It didn’t send me. I had absolutely no desire to read on. I didn’t care what Lena wanted or needed. What I really wanted to click the X and do something else–maybe go shopping.

Instead…

I clicked the Find and Replace function and changed the main character’s name–in 492 places! (No, I did not go through them one at a time. Yes, I had been looking for ways to keep from working, but really….not even I am that desperate!)

ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!  With that click of a button, my main character went from boring to –interesting, exciting, even. It’s as though she has suddenly come into her own. True is so much more now. She has a name to live up to. And I am charged with helping her realize her potential.

A rose by another other name might smell as sweet, but that’s only if it compels one to sniff it.

It is all in a name.