Today I gratefully review the previous Thanksgivings.
This year is a transition year, as was last year, and a couple before that. Three of the past four years, I've stayed home, snuggled with my memories, and enjoyed a simple meal. Last year, I had dinner with a friend, her family and their chaos. I remembered why I love my simple, solitary tradition.
I don't remember specific years... but I remember my mother muttering under her breath, as my (paternal) grandmother rearranged the table and fussed over the food. Mom's menu was traditional and iron-clad. The only variable was the fruit pie - apple or peach?
Thanksgiving in Ft. Wayne, Indiana after an hour drive, settling down to dinner with my father and that stranger he married. She knew Ginger very well, but didn't know much about me.
Years later, the warm friendly welcome from Helen (that stranger) as she grew into my heart as a step-mother. Her adventurous recipes, a marked departure from my mother's unchanging Thanksgiving menu. Later I become painfully aware that food to Helen carried a far different meaning, as she re-arranged it on her plate, and cheerfully sipped several mugs of coffee.
In 1986, a run to Benton Harbor, MI to meet my boyfriend's grandmother. She was going to have the day by herself... and we drove up to spend it with her. Her gracious old-fashioned southern manners and her love for her old dog were bittersweet memories of that trip. She shared stories of how my bf didn't talk to the family, and how one Christmas he sent an FTD centerpiece and she sat and cried... knowing he was alive, but still not knowing where he was.
IN 1987, I returned to Benton Harbor, forsaking my family, frustrating my own grandmother. My daughter was almost 2 months old, and I was showing her off to his side of the family. Friday afternoon, sitting in the kitchen, the back door blew open. I got up to close it, and was struck with a chill. We returned home, and my sister caught me at my apartment door. My grandmother was gone, heart attack, the day after Thanksgiving... sitting in her favorite recliner, watching the Nashville Network, with a pan of leftovers heating on the stove.
The following several days were numb. I had nothing, financially, I had focused on having the baby, and getting back to work. The C-section meant I'd be off work two weeks longer than expected. I didn't even think of the flowers until I saw the spray on the casket, and the small satin heart with a single rose - "great-grandmother" My hormones were roller-coastering, my confidence was weak.
In talking to Gladys and Grace (the remaining matriarchs of the family) I found out that Grandma Carrie's first name wasn't Caroline. --but Catherine. So Carrie was named... not for my g-grand, but for well, herself.
Later I found out that Ginger, my sister, had talked to my mother, and got advice on what to do... and the entire family was protecting me... from unkind comments, from stress, from... well, everything. I remember looking at Caroline, asleep in my arms, and wondering, "How am I going to do this?"- and quickly realizing I needed to be a strong woman to teach her to be a strong woman.
For several years after that, I skipped Thanksgiving completely. There was a Star Trek convention over the weekend, I'd go there... Some years, Tom would take Caroline to Michigan for the feast, so she could spend time with his family.
Eventually, after Herb & my friend Susan married, she started grabbing family and friends for the holiday.. For several years, everyone would gather there. After the dinner, I'd load the kids in my car, and drag them off for a movie... giving the adults a 2 hour reprieve from the kid's chatter.
Those years were filled with drama... The year a young family member was pregnant, and planning on adoption. Half the family knew, but the out of town family didn't know. I was listening to a conversation across the room, and saw the shift in frustrated eyes. An out of town relative was complimenting the young mother to be on her grades. Then the conversation shifted to the "of course they're good, she's been grounded since we found out she's knocked up." The her mother's bitterness made this daughter's life difficult... and the baby was given up for adoption, and now, no one mentions it... but everyone remembers.
Another year, Susan's father fell. He tripped on his shoe, tumbled down to the landing. Several men helped move him to a chair. He was embarrassed. That was the first indication of his ALS. Years later, he'd be mentioned... as we were eating... and he was miles away on a ventilator.
There was at least one Thanksgiving where I got the dinner- fully cooked, just warm it up- from the local grocery store. Simple, small Thanksgiving with three people.
In time, Susan & Herb's Thanksgivings waned, and I started going back to Ft. Wayne. I don't remember the last Thanksgiving with Dad & Ginger. Perhaps that is a blessing. What I do remember is the distinct tobacco smell of my father, as I nuzzled his neck. I remember the curl of Ginger's hair.. she hated it.. I wanted curls so bad. I remember her freckles, and her jealously.... Her frustration that I found someone when she hadn't been married yet. The implication was that I wasn't allowed seconds until AFTER she got married.
There were other years, other traditions. Overall, I guess the only tradition I have is to change the tradition every few years. So 2006 I was alone, and 2007 I was alone. I moved to FL in 2008, and had Thanksgiving with Pat's family in 2009.
I like the alone tradition, I like being with people, I like the variety. But overall, I'm reminded of why I'm thankful. I'm thankful for all the people- both family and friends, who have made me who I am... who have held me, have loved me, have protected me.
And I'm grateful for the coming years, and the new traditions that they'll bring -- as new people and new traditions enter my life. I wasn't ready for the changes that this year has brought, but I'm glad they've happened.
Here's to the new year. And whatever new tradition waits.. in the wings... to be revealed in the next act.
s out there to turn me into a negative gun-shy lurker.