Thanksgiving reflections

Like all new parents eager to show off their child, we made our daughter’s first holiday trip to our parents’ homes within weeks of her October birth.

On Thanksgiving at my sister Kathy’s, my mother made a point of telling me to sit still, that not being expected to help was a perk of having a new baby. Ah, what a treat.
Then, on Christmas Eve, after my sisters’ families had come (opened presents) and gone, Fred and I decided to take Emily to 10 p.m. midnight Mass two blocks from my parents' house. Whether it was that conundrum or the dregs of colic, the confines of a crowded church wasn’t Emily's cup of tea.
We left rather than endure our fellow worshippers’ reproach. Grandpa had declared Emily the prettiest baby he’d ever seen, but his impeccable judgment was unlikely to win us any patience from our pewmates. So, Fred and I strolled along Union Street wrapped in the surprising warmth of a balmy Dec. 24. It was a luxury we savored.
But after a few years of such visits (which now included little brother, Tim), we decided we didn’t want our children’s holiday memories to be framed by the vinyl edges of our bucket seats. At least I didn’t. I don’t remember Fred saying much. Almost 20 years later, it’s hard to know if it’s my bad memory or just that I didn’t notice the beginning of Fred’s penchant for going along to get along.
Either way, Thanksgiving became our stay-at-home holiday. Christmas Eve, we could still share with my family in a down-and-back trip; and Fred’s parents agreed to come to us on the Big Day.
Problem solved.
With those decisions have come numerous joys. Emily’s early eagerness to help. Pre-schooler Tim’s insistence that we all dress up for Thanksgiving dinner. I can still see her in a dress and him in his blond bowl-haircut, white shirt, blue slacks and multi-colored clip-on tie.
As they got older, we added a movie to our tradition, picking some family fare suitable and enjoyable for all. If you don’t count the Thomas Crown Affair or Phenom's mooning shot.
I’ve often told friends how much I love our low-key approach to the day, doubly so when Emily and TJ and Emily’s boyfriend-turned-husband, Tom, joined Fred and me in the task of making apple pies.
My, how they’d grown into new roles over the years. I’d grown, too, I noticed this past year when TJ took over making the crumb crust topping. As I hurriedly cut flour, salt and Crisco into pea-sized bits for the bottom crust -- so that TJ could use the pastry blender -- I glanced over and realized there was no need for speed. He had let the mixer do the work.I started to tell him “I always …,” but a nano-second of thought stopped me mid-sentence. Instead, I shared my revelation: “I’ve never used the mixer for that, but I guess it doesn’t really matter.” And it didn’t.
Kissing that particular control issue goodbye felt good.We labored on. Tom using the apple-peeling machine, Emily measuring and mixing the flour, brown sugar, etc., for the filling, and me savoring the sound of her and TJ repeatedly asking “What else do you need done?” The carrots. The dressing.
This was more than a treat. It was an indescribable gift.
Another gift was that we were even together to do it. For years, Emily and Tom had juggled two sets of relatives for this holiday, and we knew that Tom’s grandmother had first dibs on them this year, even though both sets of parents had agreed there would never be any pressure to choose one over the others. So, I thought it would just be Fred, TJ and me this year -- until Emily asked if we could “do Thanksgiving” on Wednesday. That way she could still have both – without rushing from one to another and forcing down back-to-back feasts. I loved that it mattered to her, that she still wanted the meal she’d grown up with.
As the dinner hour approached, Fred was home from work, but Tom had gone off to his own job, so there was a new set of hands helping. Green bean casserole ready. Turkey out. Pillsbury Crescent Rolls in. Creamed onions mixed. Grandmom’s dilled carrots nuked. Potatoes mashed. Homemade cranberry salad thawed. Canned cranberry sauce standing tall.
With just four of us eating, the table needed only one leaf, and the food filled every available inch. Standing there, checking to see if any side dishes or serving spoons had been forgotten, I admired the array.
Our tradition works for us. Having both kids home, and healthy and happy, is what we’re most thankful for. But I suspect we each had other things that came to mind, as well. For Emily, it may have been eating a day early, but with TJ, there was no need to guess. It was the apple pies.
As I enjoyed that the table was attractive without being over-the-top, I can only surmise that Fred was happy that relaxed was "in" this year. There was no better proof than my silent reaction to his choice of serving dish for the sliced turkey and drumsticks: Our large yellow mixing bowl.
Ah, another control issue kissed goodbye.
For this, and so much more, we gave thanks.