For about a month now I’ve been stomping around Buenos Aires complaining about the weather. It’s not that it’s too hot, too cold, too rainy or too dry here; the calendar is upside down…along with the weather.
The calendar on the wall says it’s the end of May and June is almost here. The weather outside says it’s autumn and with the leaves turning it’s easy to believe. But my body and mind are confused and that’s why I’ve been complaining.
The calendar is screaming at me “baseball”, while the weather is saying it’s “FOOTBALL”. And along with football comes Thanksgiving, Halloween, hot chocolate and the smell of burning leaves.
Except for the hot chocolate and burning leaves, there is nothing of American autumn here. No cozying up on the couch watching the ‘Skins kick Dallas’ butt. No ritual of watching the pre and post game shows and no wandering through the myriad of shops along Cabildo Avenue looking through the windows at Christmas decorations.
So, can you see why I’m so confused?
A couple of weeks ago, I guess Ale had just about had enough of my American griping and whining.
I had been out on the balcony smoking a cigarette and enjoying the first stages of chill in the air that says autumn.
Walking back into the apartment, I pushed the sliding glass doors shut behind me and started in on my usual tirade about how Argentina has it backwards and is upside down.
Being the lovely, patient “espousa” that she is, she listened to my bellyaching. When she was done, she smiled that cute little crooked smile and said, “Let’s have Thanksgiving,” and then she asked me what all goes into a traditional American Thanksgiving meal.
For the next few minutes I told her about mashed potatoes, cranberries, pumpkin pie, turkey and stuffing and all the rest. She smiled again, nodded and made some mental notes about what to get the next time we go to the “supermercado”.
You’ve gotta love a woman that will do all that just to make this slightly homesick Americano feel at home.
With her tucked into my heart and visions of a turkey cooking in the oven in a few weeks, I wandered into the bedroom to stretch out and watch some television while she finished the dishes from that nights dinner.
Pickiing up the remote I turned to my favorite channel and instead of being able to watch “The Big Bang Theory”, there…was….soccer!!
Jerry Nelson is a freelance photojournalist from America. The creator of the photographic book, No Indians in Tennessee, he now lives in Argentina while he continues to turn his lens on social justice issues around the globe. Connect with Jerry on MosaicHub, Facebook or LinkedIn today. Follow this link to read more of his work on Huffington Post and Examiner. Jerry uses WeOnTech to distribute his images and articles, get your FREE TRIAL today. Have a story that needs to reach national media? Email him today.
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