Thanksgiving 2024, A Somber yet Sober Reflection, by MB Hagy
“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we
have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order,
confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a
stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for
today and creates a vision for tomorrow.” Melody Beattie (I have no clue
who this person is but I like the way she thinks!)
Thanksgiving provides a centerpiece for the wonderful
endeavors of anticipation and reflection. Taking joy in an event, with preset
expectations, then reflecting as to how those expectations were met, with an
opportunity to take notes for future improvements. Some things change and some
things stay but every year I forget those mental notes and then I expect
everything to be as I remember. I suppose that’s why nostalgia is such a deep
knife that carves layers into moments and catches one off guard when stumbling
upon a memory.
Memories of large, boisterous tables full of stories and
laughter. A cold, crisp autumn day spent tackling leaves or a hodge podge team
of players with a friendly game of touch football. Scent of wet leaves
decomposing on dying grass, blue skies cast with an amber hue signaling the end
of another year shall come to pass. Warming up under warmth of shelter, a feast
brewing in the kitchen. Dressing in dressy best to grace the table with
thankfulness.
These are my memories and my expectations of Thanksgiving.
They are my childhood memories that set a precedent for all to follow. The more
the merrier, family first and friends are always family.
As an adult, with a family of my own, my childhood
Thanksgivings are relics of decades past which I covet and carve in my mind. While I may expect every year to hold the same picture as my
childhood, every year has a different flavor. There have been years when
Thanksgiving is celebrated on a Sunday or a Friday, maybe even in December just
to accommodate the gathering of loved ones.
Some years we’ve been invited to share in
another’s table. Many a year we spent gathering with cousins, aunts and uncles
at a grandparents’ table. One year just the hubby and I spent turkey day
secluded in the NC mountains, another year there were seven of us at the coast. More recently we received a last-minute invite to celebrate at a friend’s home who
already had about fifteen family members in attendance. I had already bought my
turkey and prepared all my sides but the thought of being able to celebrate at
such a large table was so exciting. We skipped the bottle of wine, summoned our
inner Pilgrim and packed up our whole turkey dinner, side dishes, dessert and
all! We had the most pleasant, warm and welcoming celebration.
There have been Thanksgiving fails. Last year I ran out of
milk for the macaroni and cheese recipe and improvised with egg nogg, adding
bacon. I was so excited at the prospect of sweet and savory, got the table excited for this creative concoction. It wasn’t good. Now, they make a special request – do not use
egg nogg for the mac and cheese.
Recounting how in 2018 Thanksgiving was spent at the coast in an old historic home,
we discovered when the oven wouldn’t heat that the gas line was cut. And of
course, the weather was one of the coldest on record in North Carolina. We went
to Walmart, bought a turkey fryer, an oven toaster, used the microwave to
cooked potatoes and heat pies, and huddled around space heaters. The feast was
as plentiful as ever and our efforts made the meal all the more delicious and
created a really hearty memory.
At that same coastal, historic home, we had a very unique encounter as the hubby and I welcomed
guests from another country with nowhere to spend Thanksgiving. I recall I had
a cracked, inflamed, and infected tooth and was miserable trying to eat turkey
from one side of my mouth. With pain and a lot of wine, the four of us sat
talking and laughing till five in the morning! Five am, the sun was rising, it
was a mixture of delirium, pain and new friends.
Yes, every year is different but like gazing back at that
old photograph, the rituals are the same. The scents, the smells, the warmth,
the food, the love, the gathering, the family, the friends.
Of all the Thanksgivings, there truly is no place like home.
I relish all of trimmings. Decorating the table with my finest, turning on
Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, followed by The National Dog Show – this year a
pug won. Playing Andrea Bocelli in the background, cooking then transitioning
into holiday music. Yes, I’m operating off new traditions and rituals I’ve
created but they feel like home, they are the home of today and the home I
remember.
In addition to our own traditions, funny new tales from the
table, new dishes such as some candied yams courtesy of our planted
southern roots, I always incorporate relics of the past with delicacies of
creamed oysters, pork and sauerkraut, and Irish Soda bread – harkening
traditions from my German and Irish heritage. While I have found that I am the
only one who eats these delicacies, I ignore the votes from the masses as I am the chef.
Moving forward into the next Thanksgiving I have taken stock
and made some notes. People want their turkey early. I will do better next year
and get the turkey in first thing in the am, not in the pm. I will not make classic apple pie, I will
make caramel top streusel apple pie, because it is more decadent and
preferable. I will, still, and must make the oysters. And the Irish Soda bread.
That’s non-negotiable. And the pork and kraut.
Still reflecting on Thanksgiving 2024, this year everything
was near perfect, with the exception of those aforementioned notes and the fact
that we were short one or two kids who are not really kids anymore and pulled
to another table. Still, I was troubled, distracted, bothered, unsettled. And I
think it was because I expected more. I remembered like that knife that cut
deep into nostalgia, I wanted a bigger gathering. The gathering of my childhood
where aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, friends with no place to go, my
parents, my siblings, I missed them all. I miss those days terribly.
The bleeding of nostalgia became an offering and that
offering created the centerpiece of a cornucopia spilling nourishment into my
soul. I was able to have a glimpse into the future, if God’s blessings and
grace allow.
This year I looked out at our table of six and saw it grow.
With God’s grace and blessings, our table will grow. Maybe some years we won’t
all be able to gather but the table will still grow. Our home, our traditions,
our family will grow.
