I was planning the upcoming menu the other day with the family, and Todd asked us what our dream Thanksgiving would look like. I had to laugh, he’s lived his most of our life together by hunting in the morning and coming home to help with the rest of the dinner, games in the evening, just happy for a day off work. The kids didn’t give us a lot to go on, just Little Smokies, traditional fare. Then Todd cornered me and I admitted I almost don’t even know what to dream about.
But since he asked, I thought about what a Thanksgiving Day would look like if I could honestly choose. For the past decade or two I’ve dreamed of having the Macy’s parade on the tv as our morning backdrop. The kids would sleep, I’d write out all my Christmas letters and sort the envelopes into international and U.S. and hand-deliver stacks. Dinner would be percolating in the kitchen nearby, sweet and savory smells would simultaneously enwrap me. Pies would be cooling, rolls raising. Ideally at someone else’s house. Kids would be playing out in the snow and later with board games. The morning would stretch without stress, without a care in the world. We’d dress in our business casual, gather our contributions and make our way to somewhere we’d been invited. We’d have a spiritual moment where we’d go around the table and talk about our blessings. No food would be cold; it would just wait for us.
The bubble pops easily. We don’t get any tv channels. Plus it’s in the basement and too big to be moving up and down the stairs to the kitchen, who would do that? I’ve tried watching re-runs from years past (like it matters how current a parade with balloons is), but I only seem to get clips and not the whole parade on my computer. Todd has hunted for as many years as I can remember Thanksgiving morning (thankfully dressing the turkey before he leaves though), at least back when the kids were small; I think he’s stayed home for the past couple for whatever reason, I have no idea. He’s been on-call before. My letters aren’t usually done by Thanksgiving, so that’s not usually what’s happening. Plus we’re almost always the one hosting, for as long as I can remember anyway, so there’s no time for hunkering down in front of the fire to write love letters. But, like I said, it’s Todd’s job to deal with the turkey, I’ve started on some things the day before, and I wake up staring at the work in front of me, the cooking schedule, our plan of attack. I’ve had the kids tear bread for stuffing, par-baked the rolls, made the pumpkin, sometimes the berry, (and this year, since we were mentioning our dreams, Callum requested the chocolate) pies as well as the cranberry sauce and cheese ball yesterday. But I still need to make the apple pie (I’m silly, but I like the crumb topping fresh so it’s crispy and not soggy from sitting out) and the stuffing. Green bean casserole (which I tried making healthy last year, no go), etc. etc. I do actually like setting the table, the one job that others seem to want to help with, which is actually weird. We eat mid-afternoon. And then there are the dishes (I’m not really a disposable kind of gal, I know). The one good thing about no tv is no football. Hallelujah. (I totally forgot that to have no football is part of my dream.) So that works out. I love the desserts but I feel sinful. And gluttonous. I think I love the evening, but I have no recollection as to what we do. Maybe friends linger. I know we sometimes take a walk. Play games. Watch a show. I think I’m just relieved I made it through another year of trying to make the expectations of all the guests and family members happen.
Did you like this holiday as a kid? I honestly can’t remember if I did or not, isn’t that curious? I suppose our experience may have been like most of yours. Way back when we went to my dad’s parents’ sometime in the afternoon. What could be more traditional than traveling half an hour to grandma and grandpa’s house in the back of a station wagon to spend the afternoon with mostly adult relatives in nice clothes?
Where we, like a lot of you, were relegated to the kid table. Boring grown up talk. Dry pie crust. (My kids hate pie for the same reason.) I’ve never cared for turkey and especially eschewed the wet bread stuffed inside it all. Cranberry sauce was bitter, I wasn’t into olives or the “relish tray,” and I skipped the sweet potatoes (if we even had them—honestly can’t remember). Along with most kids, I liked potatoes and gravy and rolls and jam, but that’s about it. And the ice cream that accompanied the pies. I of course loved seeing my aunts and uncles, but I was even more shy when ones from out of town came, they all talked about how big we’d grown and asked us all sorts of hard questions. I did like the idea of no school, having my mom home all weekend, and its close proximity to Christmas. So overall Thanksgiving has always been sort of beige in my mind, not quite my favorite holiday, but certainly not the worst. And yet, overall I absolutely love the fall season and the holiday energy, I love Norman Rockwell and the idyllic Thanksgiving scenes… it’s definitely grown on me the past several years.
But funny thing, as I’ve written this, I’m beginning to remember that I do love Thanksgiving. Just as I love Sundays. Of course every day of the week has its merits, but Sunday really is different, a special day to devote ourselves and our thoughts to things of a higher nature, to ponder and appreciate the blessings of having Christ and his teachings in our lives. And so it is that Thanksgiving is also becoming dear to my heart. It’s almost a holy day in our minds (which is why it seems odd for people to be out shopping), distinct. I love that I don’t have to buy presents with the possibility of getting it wrong, it’s just a day with food and family, a day to pare down and focus on what’s really important. I’m beginning to remember all the parts of it I love.
I’m recalling the delightful, old-time verses and songs with handmade cut-out people and turkeys I’d entertain my littles with as a young mom. So long ago that I’d nearly forgotten. I’m remembering all the picture books I’d read to them from the library, the cozy feeling of both cuddling and educating—an absolutely intoxicating sensation. I specifically remember buying (I know) a particular non-fiction paperback picture book for them so that we’d always have it, so they’d be sure to know the story. I remember the library video I’d check out annually where children depicted what life in Plymouth would have been like. I’m thinking of all the years we’ve had Todd’s parents or other family members join us. And when we’ve visited extended family ourselves and been spoiled and pampered by relatives who’ve let us feel like kids again even when we’ve been completely grown up.
I’m thinking of how the decorations are up for Christmas at the craft stores and the mall. And how festive it feels to be in the midst of the “holiday season.” I love that we get a mix of snow days and blustery late-fall days where the leaves are still ours for the raking. I’m remembering the holiday parade the day after Thanksgiving we’ve gone to. I’m thinking of the annual neighborhood football game that sometimes the boys have played in. I’m excited that Todd gets to be with us for the whole day. I love that we get to sleep in. And that we get to have friends join us. That we have enough to share. That I’m healthy and strong and able to cook all day this year. That I have people to bake pies for. That we have an entire day devoted to thankfulness. I love the touching quotes written in pretty fonts all over the internet, admonitions to think outside ourselves for a season, to remember all we’ve been blessed with and to share that bounty with others.
And so I’m grateful. As I know you are. For this almost sacred time of year, a day—a season really—to share our abundance, a time to celebrate family and friends, a chance to look around and see who we might help, a time-out-from-being-careful-day to have all sorts of high carb foods—the very same ones we had at grandma’s decades ago. I’m grateful for tradition and how it links generations. For the pilgrims who started this whole thing, for their strength and vision and desire to worship freely. I’m glad for the chance to gather the kids and to talk with them about our blessings. And what it means when the scriptures say “for unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.” And to remember from whom they all flow in the first place.
I still don’t like olives. Or turkey. No one really eats the cranberry sauce. And it’s a load of work for the parents. For days. But I wouldn’t bow out of it for anything. To tell you the truth, I don’t need parades. Or a quiet day to myself. I’ve had more than my share of both in my lifetime. What I want—and I think the whole world needs—is more days like Thanksgiving. More days where we invite loved ones and new friends to dinner. More days of tradition, of young and old coming together with no agenda. More days lingering and talking. More days playing games together. More days of counting our blessings. More days to remember what truly matters. And yes, more days living with thanksgiving in our hearts.
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