It was ritual, it was family
When we were kids, Thanksgiving was a notable affair.
We hosted the extended family around the big round table, inherited from my paternal grandmother. As marvelous as Thanksgiving Day was, we looked forward to the post-Thanksgiving hot turkey open faced sandwiches that were my father’s specialty.
They were as much a part of the celebration as the day itself. As kids, we were wide eyed enthusiastic about this meal, a comforting reliable unfolding of the season. A sacrosanct inevitability. It was ritual; it was family.
Today? We were bombarded with the chilling message that this will be a “different” Thanksgiving. Though I wax nostalgically about our post Turkey Day open faced turkey sandwiches as examples of the reliability of the celebration, there have been “different” Thanksgivings before.
Here is a column that I wrote nine years ago just to that point.
Over the river and through the woods…
Thanksgiving, touted by magazines, the media and Martha Stewart as the quintessential family holiday can be a lot less than described…or more, depending on your point of view.
I can remember it so clearly. It was the first Thanksgiving in our new home. My husband’s family was traveling from Utica to spend the day with my spouse and I.
I slaved for days to prepare what I believed was a perfect Thanksgiving meal replete with a huge sage infused stuffed turkey, mashed potatoes, candied yams, tiny creamed onions, homemade biscuits, pumpkin and mincemeat pies.
Then my in-laws arrived…with a trunk full of their version of Thanksgiving food that started with a gigantic lasagna.
“But, but, I stammered. I made turkey and…”
“We’ll eat ours first,” was the response.
The look of abject fear on my husband’s face cannot be described. What do you do after you catch your breath? You smile, put everything that you’ve prepared away. The turkey had to go outside on the porch since there wasn’t room in the refrigerator.
It was not my favorite Thanksgiving, although I did think that there should have been a mention of my performance at the Academy Awards.
Roll the tape further ahead and it’s another Thanksgiving.
There are now three of us, the third being our infant son safely snugged into his bed in the back seat of the car as we drove to my sister’s home in Carmel to spend the holiday with her family, my other siblings and my Mom.
Our route took us into a snow storm that caused Rt. 17 to become a parking lot. We left our house with more than enough time for the four-hour trip and we hoped, once when we hit this bad weather, that we would still get there at a reasonable hour. A triumph of hope over reality.
Let me set the scene further. These were the “good old days” before cell phones.
We were stuck in a car creeping along at 5 to 10 miles an hour with no turnoffs, no roadside phones, just a growing knowledge that all was not well at my sister’s house. Hours passed.
We had formula and diapers for the baby and snacks for us so that was OK, but I knew, just knew that there was mounting drama at my sister’s.
A veritable wall of wailing and gnashing of teeth would have started as the hours passed.
We finally got to a turn off well past the time that we were expected at my sister’s house. We sought out bathrooms and a telephone. The more important for all of those in Carmel was the latter.
There, amidst the turkey and all of its preparation was my mother who had gone off the deep end calling everyone and anyone who might know where we were…the State Police and hospitals among others.
Now I know how worried I would be if my daughter and her family hadn’t shown up as planned, but my Mom, as dear as she was, could really ratchet up the anxiety seeing only a gruesome scene with us laying in a ditch somewhere frozen solid.
There was no joy on Peckslip Road that day…at least until we finally pulled into Joan’s driveway somewhere about 9 p.m., a good eleven hours after our departure from First Street.
No one there had eaten a bite once the wailing began. Well, maybe my brother snuck into the kitchen, but everyone else was bleary eyed and next to exhausted.
We ate the meal, warmed over on Friday.
Did I mention how thankful I am thankful for a charged cell phone?
