Thanksgiving Day Remembered

The first Thanksgiving Day was a four-day feast back in the 1600's, and there are a plethora of Web pages on the subject. I thought this one was nice-- The Thanksgiving Story --sound and light. Today, it’s just the one day, but we prepare enough food to last four days. Don’t you just love leftovers?

It might not surprise you that when I taught high school in the LAUSD back in the eighties, my students informed me that the Pilgrims were thanking the Indians on that first Thanksgiving Day. As you probably guessed, I straightened them out on that. How could I not?

My earliest memories of Thanksgiving are of large family gatherings at my grandmother’s house on Long Island. Grandma would make homemade pasta, rolling out the dough with a broomstick on a linen cloth covering the kitchen table. Then she’d fold it, slice it, and slip the broomstick under the main fold and lift, shaking the noodles free. There was always pasta before the turkey and its traditional accompaniments.

My parents, brother and I would arrive early in the day so that Mom could help with food preparation. The wonderful smells filled the house all day long increasing my anticipation of the meal. And we’d stay long into the night, enjoying the company of uncles, aunts and cousins, stretching out the celebrating until everyone was full and tired.

I remember Grandpa lifting a glass of his homemade wine and saying in his thick Italian accent, "God bless America." It wasn’t just a slogan for us. It was his passionate expression of thanks for his adopted country. The guests all indulged a little girl’s wish, and waited for me to say the "Bless us, Oh Lord" prayer before dining. And dining, and dining. Course after course, interspersed with stories and banter, the adults at one end of the dining room table, with a smaller table at the other end for us kids. We stretched clear into the living room.

Afterwards, we’d play games, notably, charades.

I was about 8 years old when my dad purchased his first camera--an Argus, 35 mm, rangefinder. He thereafter chronicled many of our family feasts. He loved taking pictures of the food on the table, then getting everyone seated for a few shots. Kinda like Kodak meets Norman Rockwell. He’d stand at the head of the table, everybody would lean in and raise a glass, and pop went the flashbulbs. I think I still have those slides somewhere.

I’m laughing as I remember Dad with his Canon SLR on the tripod, timer set, and then dashing into the picture with the rest of us. Once he tripped, but that’s another story.

As the years passed, all the fun at the table morphed into watching football games in the living room; kids sitting at a separate table; and convenience foods replacing much of the homemade dishes. One time I even purchased a whole meal from a local supermarket. I can hear you groaning out there, but I had my reasons. But no matter how you sliced it (pun intended), mealtime became shorter.

Before me moved to Redding, George and I made a tradition of attending the worship service at Church on the Way--the perfect way to start the day. I guess it’s unusual to have a service on Thanksgiving, because we never found a church in Redding that did. I missed that.

I also miss the all-day preparation, the myriad kitchen activities, the aromas, the fellowship with family members. I do not, however, miss the back-breaking work required to achieve success. Also, now that I’m older, I eat less. And there’s never any pasta. Sigh.

I’m grateful to be with family today. After George died, I spent three years in Redding without him . . . without family. I had good friends, a wonderful church family, but it wasn’t the same. This year’s festivities, as last year, were held at the Harringtons, my daughter-in-law’s family. A fabulous spread of made-from-scratch foods filled table and sideboard, reminding me of the "good old days." Grandson, Sam, read a narrative on thankfulness, and youngest grandson, Frankie, said the "Bless us, Oh Lord" prayer.

What more could I be thankful for?