Cake for breakfast

It's nice when your birthday falls on Thanksgiving day: the whole country celebrates with you.
There's no rush in the morning, though I have to be up early to catch the parade. Still, I have time to share the carrot cheesecake I got with the kids at home.
Lots of people gather in the streets to watch the parade. But the really privileged ones have friends whose apartments are on the route of the parade. It reminded me of Hungary in the fifties when very few people had TV sets and all those who did were obliged by some kind of unspoken rule to let the neighbours come over in the evenings and watch TV with them. So people with parade-watching apartments make parties on Thanksgiving morning, and invite all their friends. And there's bagel and you all crowd by the window and the children run around and tear the house down. Everybody's having a great time. I thought I was going to hate the parade, but I actually loved it. There were the huge balloons that reached up as high as the fifth floor, and all the marching bands and pom pom girls and dance groups in their happy innocent American way celebrating their country and the birth of their nation. I was so moved I even forgave the silliness of the balloon-watching ceremony the night before. These people know how to be happy and content; we Europeans should learn from them.