I woke up this morning with a stomach ache. That’s my tradition. My stomach hurts a lot, and I never know if it’s from stress, something I ate, or a sexy combination. One time we went to a steakhouse for my grandma’s birthday and she ate steak, lobster tail, creamed spinach, a side salad, potatoes, wine, and dessert. On the way home she complained of a stomach ache, and said it was probably from all the lettuce. She was my idol.

My grandma Doris and I were the same person. Anxious, caring, food-centric, opinionated, and anxious. When I was growing up my family called me DJ, Doris Jr. My grandma died 7 years ago, so this is not my first Thanksgiving without her. But it is my first Thanksgiving not at home.

My grandma is buried next to my grandpa, Harry. He’s my middle name namesake. I used to be self conscious that I had a boy’s name as my middle name, but now I’m just self conscious about my ability to do mental math at a restaurant and the way my voice sounds in a video. Near the cemetery in Elmhurst, there’s a really amazing pizza place. King Umberto’s. The day of my grandma’s funeral, I gave the eulogy. It was kind of funny. I always try to provide comic relief in sad situations, sort of like William Shakespeare. And I’m humble. After the funeral we all ate lunch at King Umberto’s. I remember thinking, well grandma would’ve wanted us to have a big hot meal. And she would’ve wanted me to order the baked ziti and send it back because it wasn’t hot enough.

The Goo Goo Dolls are performing on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade. My grandma’s favorite band was the Goo Goo Dolls. Haha just kidding can you imagine. My grandma liked to clap off beat to Frank Sinatra songs and get drunk off of one Cosmopolitan. She wore statement necklaces from Chico’s, and hated when I did cartwheels because she thought I was going to badly injure myself. When it was raining in New York, she’d call me to make sure I had an umbrella in Maryland. I was her favorite grandchild and she didn’t really keep it a secret. To any of my cousins/siblings reading this, I’m sorry, but we were all thinking it.

I’m spending Thanksgiving in Brooklyn this year, the same city where my grandma grew up. She had a thick accent and beautiful handwriting. She always told me I had pretty feet, or feeselech in yiddish. She would warm my feet in her hands when I laid down on the couch. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more love in my life.

When I was really little, I used to hate talking on the phone. My dad would make me call her, and I never felt like it. Now, I want to call her all the time. I want to tell her I work for a TV show about a Jewish New York family. I want to tell her when a boy made me cry and when he sent me flowers. I want to sit at the kitchen table with her as she slices potatoes with a chef’s knife pointed towards her hand. I want her to wake me up at 7am on a Saturday to ask me if I’m hungry. I want to join her in getting drunk off one drink.

A lot of us are not with our families this year. Some of you maybe haven’t been in a few years. I think the most important thing about this genocide anniversary is to remember what you are grateful for. I’m grateful that my stomach aches eventually pass. I’m grateful for my family, my friends, my family friends, and my neighborhood baker, Nick. He makes really good croissants and Danish bread. I’m thankful for my brain, my heart, and my courage, like that movie. I’m thankful that my grandma was not alive during this pandemic because she would not be able to sleep. My cousins and I called her G-Diddy, Grandma Doris. She was the glue of our family, and she made excellent meatballs. I love her and I miss her, and I’m starting my own life in Brooklyn in her honor. Happy Thanksgiving, tell someone you love them today.

Pillow Town

G-Diddy