Oh, Thanksgiving. You are an interesting animal.
This holiday for me never seems to be the same from one time to the next, but, there is a common theme: gather together to share a meal with others. For me, who those "others" are has changed over the years.
When I was a child, it was all about the aunts and uncles. Every year, Johnny and Marie would come to my mother's for Thanksgiving. These two were, in today's terms, morbidly obese. To get through the door, they would have to turn sideways...something we children used to giggle about. What we didn't giggle about was the food they would bring. My brother loved rolls, so Marie would whip up two dozen rolls and bring them for the meal. My brother was in heaven.
My Uncle Jim (a bachelor) would come too. He was half-baked by the time he got to my mother's, but that was part of his charm (to us kids, not to my mother). When he sat down to eat, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared. He would concentrate on the meal as if he had never eaten before. He loved the food immensely. He never brought food, but he would always reach into his pockets and hand us whatever coins or dollar bills he might have.
And then there was my Aunt Sis. She was single all her life and was very close to my mother. Because of their closeness, we were treated as little princes and princesses. She would bring pies and cookies like you've never seen before. She always made sure to bring something that each of us would enjoy. She never failed on that goal!
Even when we lived in a tiny house, they would all show up and enjoy the meal. Afterwards, the women would stay in the kitchen and wash the dishes while the men would gather in the living room and "watch" television. Actually, what they did was watch about five minutes worth of television and then fall soundly asleep and snore loud enough to wake the dead. It's funny, but I miss that part of the routine.
When I grew up, Thanksgiving was focused on my own spouse and children. Even when the family no longer included my spouse, my in-laws continued to come to Thanksgiving dinner. At the time, I thought it strange, but now I see that it was a way to stay in touch with the children and maintain a sense of family. I never thought I would, but I miss them.
Now that the in-laws are gone and the children are far-flung, I now spend Thanksgiving with people who are not my family.
There were the British friends who never had occasion to celebrate Thanksgiving. We laughed when they brought kumquats to share. We didn't expect that!
There were the single women who are either raising children alone or who have no children. I have a special bond with these folks.
There are the people with whom I would otherwise never share a meal but who wanted to share a meal and had no where else to go.
This year, the day was spent with a family, but they were not my own. I saw that they rolled their eyes about their mother, as I did when my own mother was alive. They joked with each other and resurrected childhood memories. I got to sit back and laugh at how similar our families are.
Some of us clear the plate. Others of us refuse to eat the main course (turkey). Some of us demand vegetarian alternatives.
Gobble, gobble, gobble.
Although it has changed, I enjoy it no matter who comes to share my table.
