THE GIVING OF THANKS

Why do we set aside only one day a year to say thank you to those we love? The old children’s story about the Pilgrims and the Indians being the cause for Thanksgiving has fallen by the wayside long ago, Were the Pilgrims thankful that they survived the day with their scalps intact? I doubt they formed a close knit neighborhood group thereafter, or met for coffee once a week. But History does tell us that the Indians were helpful in getting the Pilgrims settled into their new homes, and we hear of no immediate property disputes between them, so all must have gone well at the dinner table.

Today we dutifully cook the same meal our forebears made traditional; turkey, dressing, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, and the ubiquitous pumpkin pie—whether we like it or not. It’s a tribute of love to family and friends. An opportunity to gather around a table and share not only the fruits of our effort, but tales of the past, and a reiteration of how much we love and appreciate one another. We tend to show love for others by feeding them, and if that is so, the enormous quantity of food at Thanksgiving must deliver a powerful message of love. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

ONE MAN’S JUNK

When I woke up this morning I thought of households all over America cleaning up after the Thanksgiving celebration yesterday. All the good dishes, linen tablecloths and silverware or whatever choices the family took, have to be put back in their place today, while the turkey carcass is put to simmer on the back of the stove for the soup to come.

We left all this work quietly waiting for us while we set out for the local thrift store to find a small picture frame. People frequently give away small picture frames suitable for 5×7 photos, so while digging through piles of them you may find a treasure. You remember the old saying: “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure”.

Today is designated “Black Friday” for some reason. All stores are open with the lights on, so they aren’t black. I don’t remember when the whole thing started, but it’s a reason for normally sensible people to dash out of their homes in the middle of the night to get a good place in a long line in front of all kinds of stores simply to get a bargain. I don’t think they really care what they buy as much as how much they save. It’s an awesome sight to see.

When we got to the thrift store it was apparent that they participate in “Black Friday” too. Dr. A found a couple of picture frames for the one he accidentally broke, and I found a box of white plastic coat hangers 24 of which cost me $1. I had donated a box of them last year, so maybe these were my old ones.

I sat on my trusty walker watching the crowd and categorizing the shoppers. There were those who possibly needed to shop there, and others who were looking for a bargain. When a post-middle aged man walked by carrying a rubber wet suit, I realized a grandson would be surprised on Christmas morning. A small family of parents and two little girls bubbled past me with the father carrying a three-story doll house while the little girls danced alongside.

A sexy young Mexican girl took a bright red silky dress off the hanger, on her way to the dressing room. She will undoubtedly make an entrance at a holiday party. A black leather jacket made its way to the checkstand for $60.

One lady found several decorated tin trays for her cookie exchange–3 for $4. Then the prize of the day. I’m not sure what it was or what the lady planned to do with it, but it was a tall, 3 ft. decorative metal conical object with no apparent use. While I was waiting to pay for my purchase I mentally decorated it with greenery and berries and a red bird on top and called it a Christmas tree. I should have been there first.

GRANDMA’S STORY-TELLING BED

To say my grandmother often changed her place of residence would be an understatement, but wherever she moved, there were a few belongings which went with her. Among them were the treasured connections to her New England birthplace. A large old dresser made by her great-grandfather in mid-nineteenth century, the large old Kendall family bible, her mother’s childhood autograph book and diary, and not the least, her large old bed. Fortunately for her descendants, Grandma was a saver. She took great pride in assuring us of our proper place in civilized society. Of course like many others in the Great Depression, we had no money, but you can bet your boots
grandma made sure we had class!

The old bed and dresser, like many of the other pieces of memorabilia, now live my house, having dutifully passed through a generation. Grandchildren and now great-grandchildren have been lulled to sleep while snuggled deep in old quilts made by loving hands of long-dead grandmothers. It has been a favorite beacon for story-telling time, stories ranging from fairy princesses to Ranger Dan and the Cowboys, and it was a great place from which to listen for the sound of Santa’s sleigh bells. The edges of the day called out to small children that if they were very quiet, a story might be waiting in Grandma’s bed.

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I am the Grandma now, and have been for many years. Now Great Grandchildren climb upon the old bed, but times have changed. TV is nearly old-hat, and iPad is close behind. What will be the next digital story-teller to amuse these modern children? On Thanksgiving Day a seven year old Great Granddaughter was seen on the old bed watching the movie “Jaws”. I have never thought of that killer shark being a symbol of the harvest festival, and yet?

As this Christmas approaches, I hope someone will still be held in rapt admiration of the great Santa myth, told with such practiced panache by this Grandma, or will there be something new to entertain?

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Times have indeed changed. I even find that I have somehow shrunk during this past year. Children and grandchildren have always been taller than I, but this year while reaching for the wine glasses for Thanksgiving dinner, I found I could not reach the glasses on the second shelf. It truly is not fair, and I hope an absence of height will not be the legacy I leave. Grandma left her bed, so she will be remembered for that. My mother wanted people to remember her as being fun. But I guess we aren’t in charge of others memories.

The radio has been churning out Christmas music since the day before Thanksgiving, and we will remember Bing Crosby singing about a White Christmas he probably never saw, but the saddest legacy in the music department has to be for poor Gene Autry, who rode herd on countless villains on his trusty white steed, but ultimately will be remembered for writing and singing “Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer”.

PARDON MY GOBBLE

Well, President Obama has pardoned this year’s turkey. I love the weird American-ness of this tradition. We pardon one turkey a year so that we can feel less guilty about eating millions of its cousins. As of this year, presidents have pardoned 23 turkeys. Not a lot in the greater scheme of things, but I imagine that something is better than nothing, and I’m sure the pardoned hostage certainly feels much better about it.

How did this serious business of the Presidential pardon begin? Americans have been sending the noblest and best turkeys to the White House since the 19th century. In 1947 the National Turkey Federation delivered a 47# monster. Probably enough turkey meat to feed the entire Congress. Imagine the stiff competition between turkey farmers to have their Tom or Thomasina chosen? I can just picture the midnight forays into the neighbor’s barnyard to spy on the sleeping livestock.

President Lincoln’s son Tad begged his father to offer a presidential pardon to the feathered gift. John F. Kennedy sent that year’s gift back “to grow a little”. President George H.W. Bush was the first to actually “pardon” the turkey, which has become the coveted hope of at least one turkey a year. President Obama announced that he was “going to eat this sucker”!

Unbeknownst to the general public, the dinner table athletes destined for the White House are chosen at a very young age. The overly nervous and misshapen ones are culled, and a select few are groomed and trained for their final appearance. Music is played, and the noise of people talking, laughing, clapping is broadcast constantly so that the turkeys won’t be spooked when brought in for their performance. Imagine the confusion a large live turkey could cause by leaping off the stage into a spectator’s lap! So just as show animals of any breed are trained, so too it the glorious White House turkey.

Our kindly and generous bird is ready to brave the heat of the oven, the pumpkin and apple pies and blackberry cobbler are waiting, and the house is sparkling. The children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are on their way, so we are ready to celebrate the importance of a day to be thankful for all we have been blessed with. May there be love and peace in your hearts.