I often wonder if the memories that I am helping create with
my kids are as worthwhile as those of my own childhood.
I’m not referring to memories that might better be left suppressed—with
siblings, there are always things better left forgotten. More so, I am referring to the memories that
materialized from holidays that began in the Oberlin home of my grandparents.
Memories of cousins, uncles, aunts, and food! Memories of my grandmother Pearl, with a
tight smile and even tighter stockings, who could produce a Thanksgiving feast complete
with sides that surpassed all expectation.
Long after my grandfather died, she continued to play hostess to nine
grandchildren, their parents, and an extra guest or few as well.
Eventually, as my grandmother grew older and it became more difficult
for her, the Thanksgiving spoon passed from my Grandmother to my mom. After my Grandmother died, holidays on Glenhurst became more
and more distant.
While I have changed in my own role, no longer a child, but
parent, I’ve noticed that Thanksgiving for me has begun to change as well. Instead of wishing for Thanksgiving to
snowball into Christmas, I instead now tarry. I find I enjoy the anticipation that the
holiday season brings, more so than I love its finale.
Once eager to grow up, I am now eager to coast.
Once eager to break away from the past, I am now searching
for ways to include it.
In my forties, I find that I channel my grandmother in ways
I never thought I would. In no way
anxious to take on her role of meal preparation for the masses, I do find I
channel Pearl in ways I never thought I did or would.
I channel her when I prepare her dishes. I channel her in her tight smiles.
My hope is that my children will
remember this Thanksgiving fondly. I
hope they remember the joy of family, food, and thankfulness. I want them to know that life
is a feast and is meant to be enjoyed in the moment. Whether or not the gravy turns out is
irrelevant.
If Pearl were still here, I think she’d agree.
In the fifteen plus years that she’s been gone, I’ve dreamed
of her often. And in my dreams, she
smiles—wide and easily.
