Here we stand, friends, at the brink of history. No, I’m not
talking about the last election; I’m talking about
Thanksgiving.
Here we stand, friends, at the brink of history. No, I’m not talking about the last election; I’m talking about Thanksgiving.
Why is this Thanksgiving historical, you ask? It is simply this: I am turning in my turkey baster and venturing south with my spouse for a Thanksgiving holiday away from home. And although we’ll still enjoy a home cooked feast, this year Daughter No. 1 will be the one creating it. And I’ll be a family guest.
I am so happy with this choice of plans that I’m practically beside myself with joy because right about now all across America Thanksgiving dinner negotiations are reaching fever pitch.
Families have toppled into the bargaining stage: Can we deep fry the turkey on Thanksgiving if we roast it at Christmas? Are you still stuck on that pumpkin pie thing? Why not apple? If we serve mashed potatoes do we still have to make yams? Must we invite the weird cousins again this year? Is there some reason you can’t serve dinner during halftime?
And don’t even get me started on the pitfalls of stuffing. When I was a little kid we endured what I refer to as the “20-Year-Stuffing-War.” In what was meant to be a compromise, my family split Thanksgivings between my grandparents’ house and my aunt and uncle’s house. The difference between these two destinations was the stuffing: Grandma made hers with the traditional cubes of bread, celery and onions. My aunt did likewise – with the exception that she added sausage. And for a family who couldn’t agree on stuffing, the annual switch was essential.
Now to stuffing-sans-sausage traditionalists, putting meat of any kind into stuffing is sacrilege. Our small family unit of four preferred the meatless version. On the alternate years at Grandma’s house we could count on a Thanksgiving dinner where sausage-free stuffing was to be had in abundance. But in the off years my brother and I did our creative best to avoid my aunt’s sausage stuffing extravaganza.
“See, Mom, we all like stuffing without the sausage and if you’re cooking the turkey you can make it any way you want. So let’s have Thanksgiving at our house,” I suggested to my mother in what I thought was an irrefutably brilliant move. “No, we can’t have Thanksgiving,” my mother retorted firmly. “I don’t have enough chairs for everyone to sit at the table.” “Borrow chairs from Grandma,” my brother shot back. “Don’t get smart with me,” scolded my mother. And if you grew up with a mom like mine, you know that “getting smart” signaled the wise end of any argument.
One year even my dad jumped into the fray. “You know it might be nice to have Thanksgiving here at home for a change,” he ventured hopefully. “Well, fine,” my mother snapped. “Of course if everyone comes here for dinner I’ll have to redecorate the house.” Another effort shot to smithereens.
Years later I comprehended my mother’s total brilliance. Not only was she not made to suffer the tedious task of turning out of her own kitchen a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings, she also avoided those pesky pitfalls of dinner decision making that run as an undercurrent to the biggest feast of the year.
Every year my mother’s sole contribution to the Thanksgiving feast was her signature pecan pie. And after taking her lovely pie out of the oven, my mother took a leisurely bath, fussed with her makeup and hair and dressed to the teeth in a lovely fall suit complete with snappy high heels and matching handbag.
She arrived for the Thanksgiving festivities looking fresh and unfrazzled. This was a far cry from the Thanksgiving appearance of my grandma or aunt who greeted us from the steamy kitchen with a quick wave and the harried look of a gal who had just spent the day in a flour bin, which now that I think about it, is pretty much how I appear at the Thanksgiving dinner table now that I’ve grown up and assumed the holiday cooking tasks.
Yes, my mother was a bright lady because conducting the holiday feast flowed directly from my aunt and my grandma – to me!
That’s right; from the start my mother knew better than to get involved in the holiday haggles about stuffing. It meant not the smallest iota to my mother whether it was sweet potatoes or mashed potatoes or both.
She cared not a fig whether the family invited crazy great-uncle Harold and his over-imbibing second wife who never quite blended with the family.
Because being a perpetual guest at Thanksgiving dinner meant my mother could forever remain once removed from those pesky particulars that plague the planning of the holiday feast.
Or maybe my mother had fathomed something else. Something deeper than squabbling about jellied or whole cranberry sauce. Or even sausage versus sausage-free stuffing. I think my mother knew the best part of Thanksgiving was gratitude for a bountiful life and spending quality time with the people you love. It took me awhile to figure it out, but better late than never, right? Mom would be so proud.
