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.

And when hubby and I are no longer able to make it to Thanksgiving dinner, hopefully our grandchildren will make those oysters and Irish soda bread and remember.