Thanksgiving
It’s a day that floods our senses with memories and moments accumulated over the decades. Sometimes those feel like one big casserole where we can taste dozens of those memories at once but can’t parse out the specifics of any of them. Or like today’s roast turkey, our memories smell something inviting, but anymore we can’t place the precise notes.
So, here’s my invitation for you as this Thanksgiving Day settles into its final hours:
Rather than me providing you with a small story, what if you provide yourself with the gift of a few small stories that are specific to you?
And it’s far easier than you might think.
Simply take a piece of paper this evening or tomorrow sometime and write “Thanksgiving was…” at the top of the page.
Below that, begin writing 1-2 sentence descriptions of what Thanksgiving was (5 years ago, 50 years ago, earlier today – or all of the above!). And then go where your heart leads. Go to places fun and funny, places hard and achy, places strange and awkward.
There are no rules, really, except maybe this: be as specific as possible. Try using all five senses at some point in your litany of memories. (Notably, focusing on the five senses proves to be the portal for the sixth sense to start shining through your stories.)
And no matter where you go – see if you don’t end this exercise with a sense of gratitude. Maybe not for everything you name, but perhaps for the opportunity to parse out the casserole and see more clearly this slice of life you’ve been given to live.
Below is my own ‘go’ at this exercise. Enjoy!
And… please share some of your own Thanksgiving 1-2 sentence memories in the comments section below! I’d love to hear what you come up with.
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Thanksgiving was…
It was Uncle Dave and Aunt Teresa’s basement where we pummeled ping pong balls at one another and got super sweaty under our holiday best.
It was Aunt Cindi’s mashed potatoes with the original peels and unmashed lumps all imperfect in a way that was perfect.
It was the backyard where more cousins than I can count ran wild through damp leaves atop frozen ground under a gray Ohio sky and fueled by pure joy. And fruit punch. And way more dinner rolls than had been permitted.
It was pumpkin pie that I never understood and pecan pie that was like my mouth coming home to something that had known me since before birth.
It was pigskin back and forth among the uncles and cousins until the food called and it was Bengal football lament and how Paul Brown should sell the team and conversations about cousins who now walked or talked or went to school or now did all three.
It was a real, live popcorn-making machine like they have at the movies but miraculously located in my cousin Rob’s basement, and on this Singular Day the kids were allowed unlimited refills.
It was older adults I only saw once a year seated in the living room chatting kindly, noting the window-side birds, and not really noticing the game on the television. I usually forgot their names, and I certainly did not appreciate how they were the wise ones who knew where joy hangs out.
It was the doorway coat closet that never fit all the thick raincoats and umbrellas spread everywhere trying to dry and us now standing with less layers opening for hugs with family not seen since summer.
It was “Put the dogs up!” because when Mom and I walked through the door everyone knew about our bad allergies. Dogs-to-the-master-bedroom really did not make one iota of a difference since the dog dander was everywhere but secretly it made a huge difference because I was terrified of dogs, and my watery eyes were but a convenient-inconvenient cover.
It was grandma and grandpa/it was grandma and grandad – never fast, always central, ever-honored in the quiet way aunts and uncles whispered to them or got their chair or had them at the head of the table or brought them the smallest grandchild.
It was “slow down!” but then parents who never really got up to ensure we heeded the command because parents of yesteryear and today are all alike and really just want a few moments of uninterrupted adult conversation.
It was the first one with new in-laws in perfect Palm Springs and how strange to be on vacation instead of the rainy cold and then The News about Grandpa arriving from Dad mid-way through dinner and everyone kindly asking if I was alright and I said I was as I go for more pecan pie because I don’t know how to process until my tears flood out in the hotel room and I become the sky I knew every Thanksgiving prior.
It was Mom and me strategizing our super early arrival to Kenwood Mall the next morning where I would land a pair of ridiculously discounted brown corduroys from a brand you know that would be my ticket into junior high coolness.
It was the adult table and the four card tables set out for kids but then a couple of seats at the adult table reserved for that year’s two chosen children who got to try on adulthood. As the eldest cousin on one side, I was often chosen, and one year I even learned to hold my own and talk about Reds baseball and Skyline vs Gold Star and how a friend of mine once saw Rob Portman.
It was coming back from college and now the host houses were different and the cousins older and some new adult faces and some no longer present and all of this under the familiar gray sky carrying the heavy leaves downward and the strange desire to pin a few leaves back where they were but that’s absurd and so you jump into the new pile of color and try to trust this chapter will also one day bring about tears of gratitude.
Great challenge and thanks for sharing your story. I read Christina’s story in Facebook and thought about our writing class a couple of years ago. Thanks for the encouragement and have a blessed Christmas season.
Last I line at family meals because I are so much.
One grandma with baking powder buisquits the other with Parker house rising on the top of the stove
Aunts and uncles snd cousins I only saw one or twice a year who I really liked
One thanksgiving with everyone staying with us in LA and a strong earthquake and language that was not heard in our house from out of town relatives
My sister forgetting to plug in the roaster and a vegetarian Thanksgiving
Genia being well enough to visit previous friends today and the thanks our hostess who is an episcopal priest shared with a reminder of those who were not in as pleasant circumstance and we’re still blessed
I am thankful today for you Bobby