Every new beginning
comes from some other
beginning’s end
— the prophet dan wilson

We threw the Rudolph costume and our Macy Thanksgiving Day Balloon into Junior, the new car. We staged an impromptu mini-road trip, through the Indian reservation near us, then to 8th Street in Tempe, the site of the old Sun Club and the land of fish tacos. We ended up in the quirky downtown neighborhood in Phoenix near work where art is everywhere. Mostly, we just drove, a time for shifting into a new friendship.

The new car seemed to like the trip just fine and didn’t complain that we’re sort of weird.

We stopped for an impromptu Thanksgiving meal of street tacos and a bottled coke. A homeless guy digging through the trash can commented that you don’t see that many reindeer at the food truck. We all laughed. People get caught up in Thanksgiving menus, but a taco with lime is truly something to be thankful for.

I suppose traditions are where you find them. Sometimes you find them in a box, where a friend has swiped a Rudolph costume from your failing newspaper and sent it to you from three states away for no particular reason. Sometimes they begin in a little Honda, with that new-car smell still floating about along with Wilco blaring from the stereo.

And sometimes it’s just two people and a balloon, discovering yet again that Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful you were lucky enough to find the perfect person to spend your life with. Red nose and all.

We are grateful indeed.