Thanksmemories

I love the early morning of Thanksgiving Day. I’m usually alone in my kitchen, preparing the bird while my family sleeps. Our little girls are teens now, and our oldest is married with children. I know they will be joining me soon to help prepare the familiar family dishes, set the table, and help find enough serving spoons (where do they go?). Their laughter will fill the house and after dinner we will play cards and games and eat pie and enjoy our time together.

But for now, in my quiet kitchen, I am joined by others in my mind. I cut up onions and celery and cook them in butter, and the smell reminds me of the many Thanksgivings of my childhood. I would smell this and know that momma was getting ready to make her cornbread dressing. This smell is the beginning of the holiday for me, as my momma joins me in my kitchen. Green bean casserole is up next, and I remember when the preparation was passed to me as an eleven year old. My Grandma Gray, mom’s mom, lived next door to us and she would buy the ingredients and have mom send me over to put it together. It was then and is now one of my favorites and no thanksgiving is complete without it. This morning I can almost feel Grandma sitting at the table watching mom and I.

The marshmallow fluff was a traditional dish my Grandma Powell would bring. She and Grandpa would come to the house after most of the meal was prepared and ready to put on the table. The recipe is easy enough: two cans of fruit cocktail, a can of Mandarin oranges, maraschino cherries and crushed pineapple, all drained. Mix in cool whip, some pecans, and mini marshmallows, and it’s a perfect side complete with spoonfuls of memories; my favorite being when Grandpa would come in like the giant man he was, and bellow, “The name’s Powell, but you can call me anything as long as you call me to dinner!”

When I was small, I would watch the parade on tv with the men, but growing up meant being allowed in the kitchen to help. The bustling of us women in the kitchen was one of my favorite times of the day, and even cleaning the dishes after the great meal wasn’t so bad when done together.

Over the years, as my sweet elders passed on, Thanksgiving began to change. Babies were born and families grew and now I find myself alone in the early morning, preparing the meal that is not just food, but memories and smells and tastes of by-gone days and home. I am thankful for it all, past and present, and I hope my girls will cherish more than the food and good times. I know they don’t have my memories to keep them company, but they will have their own, and I hope I will have passed on more than a few Thanksgiving recipes. I hope they will feel the love that was handed down from grandmother, to mother, to daughter, to them. I am truly blessed, and so very grateful.