Thanksgiving
When I was little, my family spent Thanksgiving with my mom's lifelong friend, Eileen, and her family. They were 'aunt and uncle' to us, and their children were my 'cousins'. I adored Thanksgiving. When I think back now, the memory feels warm, smells like amazing food, and the day was one of love and comfort.
The evening before, Dad would make his pies. Dad was a baker, gifted with sugar, and was known in our circles as the person to ask to bring desserts. He'd do his handywork, and that would feed the crowd. On Thanksgiving, we'd watch the parade religiously, as my parents were full blooded New Yorkers. We'd pack up, and drive south about 90 minutes to my aunt's, and pile out. My uncle would always come out to meet us in the drive way, so happy to see us arrive. He and Dad were great friends and it was one of those amazing blessings where everyone in the crew authentically loved each other and was thrilled to see each other.
My aunt would start feeding us as soon as we arrived, sandwiches, snacks, until the bird was ready to be served. When we'd sit down to eat, the feast was only surpassed by the laughter and smiles at the table. It was heavenly.
As I got older, I always came home for the holiday (minus one year). Living in Ohio, I was exposed to green bean casserole and that became the item I began bringing to Aunt Eileen's. No one really liked it-especially my cousin Vince. Several years my senior, he'd let me know he wasn't supportive and I would consistently remind him that no thank you portions were in effect. He was probably elated the year I left the casserole on the roof of the car and it flew off on the NJ Turnpike. Everyone was spared that year.
The 90 minute drive south seemed fine when I was young, but perhaps it's the clouded memory. As we got older, it always seemed a horrid task to get the 4 of us in the car to drive. Someone was always running late, I'd mutter the F word under my breath, only to be reminded that I was still being supported by my parents and should lose that word. Dad took the wrong exit some years, which was ridiculous, and then we'd be late. When we'd get to Aunt Eileen's, I would grab my cousin Allison and relate the insanity that had ensued in the car before we had arrived.
Many years my friend Jess was with us, bringing with her a delicious side and the sense of humor that captivated a crowd.
Often there were so many people at Aunt Eileen's that we had to have a kids table. We fondly joke that the kids table was anyone under 30 years old. When my cousin Allison brought her now husband home to meet the gang, he was at the kids table. In true form, he took it in stride and entertained all of us and clearly was not put off-as he's all in and still with us.
Because we live in different places now, we're not all together on Thanksgiving but we have this awesome tradition of having a turkey dinner when we are together. We pull out all the stops, either in NC or NJ, and toast those who are not with us anymore and remember the lovely way we have celebrated for years.
Now, I host Thanksgiving. Mom and I cook the day prior, and that's a new tradition since I have my own family now. My china has a story to tell. Dad, a captain in the merchant marine, sailed to Germany, bought his mother an entire set of Rosenthal china, which now is mine. It's gorgeous and because a man bought it, I even have the tea cups no one uses. But it's so wonderful that a piece of Dad and my grandparents is on my table. The roasting pans I use belong to my mother's mom-they are likely 60 years old. I am sure I could buy my own, but then I would not get to call my mom a week before to remind her to drop them off. And their presence in my house for that week is comforting. Memories surround me.
When I met Bob, I told him that for holidays, I need my table to be full. I am thankful it is. We host family, friends, and neighbors each year, and it's the wonderful mess that I want it to be. Bob fries a turkey in the driveway-eliciting all kinds of comments. I always make a pie, a reminder of the pies of past years prepared by my Dad. We facetime with our northern family.
Maybe someday Ciera will set the table with my Nana's china. Or use these roasting pans. Maybe Isaiah (God help us) will fry a turkey. Maybe I'll be sitting at their table, like Mom is at mine. Maybe.
Happy Thanksgiving.
The evening before, Dad would make his pies. Dad was a baker, gifted with sugar, and was known in our circles as the person to ask to bring desserts. He'd do his handywork, and that would feed the crowd. On Thanksgiving, we'd watch the parade religiously, as my parents were full blooded New Yorkers. We'd pack up, and drive south about 90 minutes to my aunt's, and pile out. My uncle would always come out to meet us in the drive way, so happy to see us arrive. He and Dad were great friends and it was one of those amazing blessings where everyone in the crew authentically loved each other and was thrilled to see each other.
My aunt would start feeding us as soon as we arrived, sandwiches, snacks, until the bird was ready to be served. When we'd sit down to eat, the feast was only surpassed by the laughter and smiles at the table. It was heavenly.
As I got older, I always came home for the holiday (minus one year). Living in Ohio, I was exposed to green bean casserole and that became the item I began bringing to Aunt Eileen's. No one really liked it-especially my cousin Vince. Several years my senior, he'd let me know he wasn't supportive and I would consistently remind him that no thank you portions were in effect. He was probably elated the year I left the casserole on the roof of the car and it flew off on the NJ Turnpike. Everyone was spared that year.
The 90 minute drive south seemed fine when I was young, but perhaps it's the clouded memory. As we got older, it always seemed a horrid task to get the 4 of us in the car to drive. Someone was always running late, I'd mutter the F word under my breath, only to be reminded that I was still being supported by my parents and should lose that word. Dad took the wrong exit some years, which was ridiculous, and then we'd be late. When we'd get to Aunt Eileen's, I would grab my cousin Allison and relate the insanity that had ensued in the car before we had arrived.
Many years my friend Jess was with us, bringing with her a delicious side and the sense of humor that captivated a crowd.
Often there were so many people at Aunt Eileen's that we had to have a kids table. We fondly joke that the kids table was anyone under 30 years old. When my cousin Allison brought her now husband home to meet the gang, he was at the kids table. In true form, he took it in stride and entertained all of us and clearly was not put off-as he's all in and still with us.
Because we live in different places now, we're not all together on Thanksgiving but we have this awesome tradition of having a turkey dinner when we are together. We pull out all the stops, either in NC or NJ, and toast those who are not with us anymore and remember the lovely way we have celebrated for years.
Now, I host Thanksgiving. Mom and I cook the day prior, and that's a new tradition since I have my own family now. My china has a story to tell. Dad, a captain in the merchant marine, sailed to Germany, bought his mother an entire set of Rosenthal china, which now is mine. It's gorgeous and because a man bought it, I even have the tea cups no one uses. But it's so wonderful that a piece of Dad and my grandparents is on my table. The roasting pans I use belong to my mother's mom-they are likely 60 years old. I am sure I could buy my own, but then I would not get to call my mom a week before to remind her to drop them off. And their presence in my house for that week is comforting. Memories surround me.
When I met Bob, I told him that for holidays, I need my table to be full. I am thankful it is. We host family, friends, and neighbors each year, and it's the wonderful mess that I want it to be. Bob fries a turkey in the driveway-eliciting all kinds of comments. I always make a pie, a reminder of the pies of past years prepared by my Dad. We facetime with our northern family.
Maybe someday Ciera will set the table with my Nana's china. Or use these roasting pans. Maybe Isaiah (God help us) will fry a turkey. Maybe I'll be sitting at their table, like Mom is at mine. Maybe.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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