Who is at the Table?

Gratitude for the ancestors regardless of their choices~

In thanks, I call in the ancestors. I thank them for their gifts over the last several hundred years. I know it goes back further, but I can only account for traveling back that far. However, I know the possible routes for relatives– navigating the way from the Aegean to the Adriatic, much like Aeneas traveled towards the Italian peninsula; I know where some of my ancestors came from and likely met in the middle somewhere along the way. That's just one line of ancestors. Of course, there is the other line, but I don't know their lineage; I can only imagine the journey fraught with similar problems of finding resources and safety.

Here I am, a body born of the mingling and meeting of cultures that clashed in a country whose people routinely mistrust and mistreat others—a curse born of centuries of theft. What's yours is mine. This pattern repeats itself through time, like nesting dolls.

But I am grateful, nonetheless, because I am here. I am alive, managing each day to move one step forward. My ancestors persisted somehow. All the missteps and mistakes have created a beautiful mess of a legacy, and with this inheritance, I move forward, knowing that I can make a difference with the breath in my body.

Whoever you invite to your table, whether for a national or other holiday, imagine how they arrived, the immense journey that all the ancestors took. Yes, we are each of us a freaking miracle.

Before I leave you with a note to find the joy in family gatherings, even when they may be awkward or challenging, I want to acknowledge the indigenous Tongva people on whose land I sit to write these words. Thank you. I also want to share this beautiful story map about the Indigenous and original people of Los Angeles (Source: American Indian Studies @ UCLA)

Enjoy all that you can of the family table.

Wishing you peace and comfort as we head toward winter.

Be well,

Bridget