Thanksgiving Thoughts

It's a week and then Thanksgiving. 

The big meal. 

The beginning of the end.

Oh sorry, the end of November leads four short weeks into the end of December and while I can't say I "hate" the end of December, I can say it's exhausting and I'm not happy, jump up and down excited about the Christmas season.  There's just a lot going on but I digress.

Thanksgiving!

For a lot of people, it's the food that matters (pigging out!) and while I take great joy in creating appetizing dishes along with making traditional food that we only have a few times a year, the food is really just a vehicle for much more.

I grew up with Holiday meals being extremely important.  You see, the entire experience was filled with family bonding.  There was the baking of bread the day before.  We helped my mom in the kitchen, cutting, stirring, kneading, braiding and shaping. We had carrot cake, sweet bread and a loaf of regular bread as well.

While we worked there was talking and laughing.  My dad would walk in and joke and laugh while we worked but wisely chose to let my mom be in charge.  Not because he had some antiquated idea that woman should be in the kitchen, but because he knew my mother was in a different culinary league, not that he'd ever admit that out loud.

One of the funniest moments ever, was the first year that my mom had to work the night before Thanksgiving.  My dad entrusted me with quite a bit, bread, stuffing, gravy, potatoes but he did not trust me with the turkey.  No matter what I said, he wouldn't allow me to prep the bird.  My mom had a couple of a little racks that she placed under the bird, so the drippings would fall into the pan and the bird wasn't sitting directly in the pan.  I informed my dad how mom did it and he proceeded to do it his own way (thank you very much).

So into the pan without the racks went the turkey.  Dad approved the stuffing and proceeded to stuff the bird, put 'er in the oven and left me to do the rest of dinner.  The house filled with mouth watering aromas.  The table was set, with style.  Holidays were a time for the best, cloth napkins, water goblets for everyone.  A lovely lace tablecloth under it all, making our modest dining room feel like a fancy restaurant. Classical music in the background and my dad's wine bottle set out, properly chilled and ready for dinner, it all set the mood.

It was time to carve the turkey. 

Except, when dad took the two serving forks and lifted the bird out of the roasting pan, the roasting pan went up with the bird.  Dad, preferring to not panic, tried to pry the bird out of the pan. 

That didn't work either and dad seemed to not notice the bemused look on my mother's face.  After several minutes, dad took matters into his own hands.  While sending one of the boys into the basement for a mallet,  dad flipped the broiling pan, bird and all, upside down.  I think we all held our breath as the bird was flipped, waiting to see if gravity would do what Dad could not.

Nope, bird flipped, still adhered to the pan.  So the mallet was brought into play and

BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM

a mere half a dozen whaps later, off came the broiling pan and the bird, laid out on the serving platter, stuffing completely visible in the center as meat and bones, having completely fallen apart, laid there, like some morbid holiday form of art.

There was no carving of the turkey that year. It was already in bite size pieces.

While that kind of belly laughing didn't happen every year, there was still the visiting during the meal.  We would sometimes sit there for a couple of hours, just talking to each other.  There was no rushing to leave the table, hurrying to answer the phone, we were a family and dang it, we were going to talk to each other.  The funny thing, it was something we enjoyed.  I remember watching my dad swirl his wine in his glass, classical music in the background as we discussed everything and anything. 

There was also a sense of unity as we cleaned up.  Now don't get me wrong, as kids, we all grumbled, but as we set into the work, there was a sense of accomplishment as the disaster we created was divided and conquered.  Piles of dishes disappeared, all hand washed.  Dad's wine glass and the goblets from dinner were carefully washed, dried and put away.  The pots and pans scrubbed, all was put away again.  Food was saved to snack on for days afterwards and it was all done together. 

For me, that is what is magical about Holiday dinners.  Thanksgiving, Christmas day, Easter Sunday, all are an opportunity to connect to each other.  Having my mom here really helps as well, Christmas day and Easter Sunday are always at her house.  Pieces of my childhood are brought forth as cloth napkins are set at the table and talking plays a major roll during our meal.  It's not the marathon talk sessions of my youth but for my husband who use to eat and run, it's a step in the right direction towards the family unity I remember as a child.

I hope my children appreciate the chance to be together as much as I do.