As a child, Christmas was without doubt my favorite holiday. I grew up when rural America still shopped by mail order catalog, and I considered the arrival of the Sears Wish Book a red-letter day. I loved looking through the pages of clothes, housewares, and toys. Shortly after Thanksgiving, Mom would advise her girls to keep out of the spare bedroom closet and any parcels that might happen to be stored in that room.
As I age, I find that I favor the traditions of my childhood, when Thanksgiving wasn’t sandwiched between the Halloween pumpkins and Christmas trees. I shake my head when I see ghosts and goblins sharing an aisle with angels and nutcrackers. I’m amazed that a popular television network runs Christmas movies for weeks on end, starting before the last of the trick-or-treaters finish their quest to see who has the best goodies in the neighborhood. Like Scrooge after his overnight change of heart, I am determined to keep Christmas well. I just don’t intend to start until after Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving has always occupied a special place in my memory. In those days, we celebrated with my parents’ extended families, which meant two celebrations for me. Dad’s family gathered on a Sunday, while Mom’s gathered on Thanksgiving day. I remember how excited I was to spend time with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
I must confess that in those days I didn’t fully appreciate the significance of Thanksgiving, or any holiday for that matter. I knew the history, but the knowledge didn’t traverse from my head to my heart until years later. The passage of time has focused my attention more on why we celebrate, rather than on the celebrations themselves. I’m less concerned with perfecting food and decorations than I am with cultivating a proper attitude of observance.
Still, preparation is part of the tradition. My sister and I made a deal years ago, when the time came for our generation to take on the holiday hosting, that she would provide the location and I would provide manual labor. We spend the day before Thanksgiving in her kitchen, chopping, peeling, baking, slicing, and dicing, with plenty of chatting thrown in for good measure. We are joined by my stepmother and one or more of my nieces. I believe the good company makes for good food.
A childhood favorite remains part of my tradition as well. I still laugh out loud when Snoopy takes charge of preparations after Peppermint Patty invites herself, and a few others, over to Charlie Brown’s house for Thanksgiving. My admiration for the charming canine has only grown since our Jack Russell joined the family, fifteen years ago today. Like Snoopy, he has a huge personality. He can’t make toast or popcorn, but he loves to follow me around the kitchen and supervise.
Our most memorable moments stem from little things, like the time Dad picked up the wrong coat from the pile on the spare bed and left my Uncle Don searching for his car keys, or the day my poor brother-in-law stood on a stool in the pantry trying to find a set of silverware. I can still see his arm sticking out the door, waving little plastic tubs around, and hear our shrieks of laughter when my sister opened a kitchen cabinet and announced, “oh, here’s what I was looking for!”
Our Thanksgiving table has never looked like the famous Norman Rockwell painting, and I must say I’m thankful. We come together as we are, grateful for another year and another opportunity to share food and fellowship. In thirty days we’ll repeat the process, with gifts and a group twice the size. But like a good cup of coffee, we will savor these few hours in November for their own special merit.
Copyright 2016 Sherry A. Hathaway. All rights reserved.
Such wonderful memories, and presented for our pleasure in such a wonderful way. Thank you, and God bless you and your family. Enjoy a totally awesome Thanksgiving gathering.