Another Thanksgiving Come and Gone

Yesteday was Thanksgiving. I think of it as Paul's and my holiday, of a variety of reasons, some of which I posted several years ago (has it really been nine years? hmmm...). It had to do with my inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner, us both unintentionally standing the other up, joking the following year about having to get married to get a turkey dinner, only to have it be turkey bologna (the person whose benefit we did that for didn't buy what we were saying), then getting four turkeys the Thanksgiving after he died.

There are so many memories when it comes to holidays. But then, that goes along with life in general. Holidays, though, seem to be a condensed version of life, in that everyone who's able to gets together, rather than the occasional one-on-one.

I had originally thought of getting up at five yesterday morning, but then set the alarm for six. (Five a.m. is just too obscene a time to get up, especially to jump right into holiday cooking.) By the time I had the second set of pies in the oven (apple; the first two were pumpkin, which came after baking pumpkin bread), the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade was on. My sons and I watched/listened while they dealt with computers and I worked on the day's dinner.

M. had mentioned that it'd be great to watch the original Miracle on 34th Street right after the parade. We watch it every year, usually in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. But I had given him a copy of it last year for Christmas, and he really wanted to watch it after the parade. No problem.

Part of me had wanted to go for a walk after the parade was over. It has been part of my holiday ritual for years, not only on Thanksgiving, but also Christmas and Easter. I've made mention of the walk several times over the years: near the end of a December 2012 post, a post from this past April, dealing with an Easter walk. This second one had me a little down, as I really didn't want to see how much more of the wooded area had been destroyed. On the other hand, the subtle changes are sometimes good, and usually interesting. But then, I also wasn't sure when my daughter and granddaughter would be here. I knew when I'd told them dinner would be close to ready, but I didn't want to leave, in case they came early, and wanted to do something else, like, say going to the beach, as we did last year.

But in the end, I didn't go for a walk. I might, sometime this weekend.

M.H. and G. arrived shortly before five. Dinner still had a little ways to go (not long, but enough...) and while stuff was cooking, G. and I talked while she helped peel potatoes and M.H. worked on homework for school. (She's back in college while working, something I'd done years earlier.)

When dinner was finally ready, everyone ate too much (what else is new, right?), and we talked, and basically had an enjoyable time.

After dinner, as I started clearing the table, M.H. started doing the dishes. At first, I thought she was only going to do a few, but the next thing I knew, the only thing left was the roaster pan, which was left to soak in the sink. Everything else had been cleaned!

After my daughter and granddaughter left, I thought about the first Thanksgiving they were back in Florida. So much has changed over the years.

No matter the holiday, there are always memories for all of us, I thought, as I got out the boxes of Christmas cards to start addressing (another tradition - starting the cards on Thanksgiving evening). Hope your day was good...

The Holidays Are Here...Is It New Year's Yet?

Thanksgiving is over, and Christmas is right around the corner. I spent a good part of yesterday writing out Christmas cards. It's something I normally do every year on Thanksgiving, after the meal is finished and the dishes mostly done. But this year, the day after Thanksgiving was good enough. After all, I usually don't start sending them out until December 1. Monday will be here soon enough.

Actually, I'm kind-of looking forward to New Year's. It seems that this time of year, so many of us proclaim that "I can't wait until this year is over!" for a variety of reasons. And yes, some years seem to warrant that sentiment. Death, divorce, all sorts of reasons give rise to that can't wait sentiment.

This has been one of those years for us. My son-in-law, B., died in July. Then my step-dad. I can't really say that Jim and I were close; we never met in person, and had only talked briefly on the phone from time to time. But that's beside the point. Then my roommate had a car wreck that warranted a week-long hospital stay and a short cast. During this time, between his family and his actions, I discovered things I'd really rather not have known. My sons J. and M. and I had pegged roomie as a storyteller. We just didn't know the full extent of it.

We finally had to tell him he would have to move, and it had nothing to do with the stories. There were several reasons factoring into this, none of which really need to come out here. Suffice it to say that for a while, things were a little strained.

During this time, my sister called numerous times. Mom was fading rapidly. She finally passed away November 11, never having made it to Oregon with my sister. Although my sister and I knew it was coming, it still hit hard. While I'd been closer to Dad, who passed away in 2007, Mom was our remaining parent, the last wall between A. and I and the future. Now A. and I are the last remnants of our birth family.

Then, last week, roomie moved. He was supposed to be out earlier, and had tried to make his stay longer ("Would it be possible to stay until December 1?" he'd asked; I responded with a firm, "No."). But when last Saturday came, we both seemed okay with it. Maybe resigned might be a better way of putting it. But it looks like it's going to work out nicely for both of us. And it was very much needed - again, for both of us. Now the extra bedroom can go back to being an office/studio/thinking space/library/whatever, at least for the time being. M.H. and G. might have to move in, and if so, that'll be their room. We'll have to wait and see.

Back to Thanksgiving...M.H. had Thanksgiving off, so she and G. came over for dinner. The flip side is that she has to work Christmas day, which stinks. Actually, I feel much stronger about stores that remain open on holidays and that don't pay their employees accordingly (i.e: at least time-and-a-half or more for working holidays), but I'm using my "nice words" this morning.

But as for dinner: Two years ago, M. and I had gone to their place for Thanksgiving, a day filled with memories that I hope they'll love as much as I do. Since M.H. had to work last Thanksgiving, and the bus ride of the year before had complicated things, we'd both done the Thanksgiving-at-home routine, touching base in the morning to exchange Happy Thanksgivings.

This year, I managed to get a couple of pies made, then stuffed the turkey and put that in the oven. Then I headed out for a walk.

We live a few houses away from the back entrance to one of our city's parks. It has plenty of space for riding horses, playing Little League games, walking or running, as well as a playground and plenty of picnic tables and grills throughout fields and woods. Walking through the horse trails became a holiday tradition for me years ago, after I'd stopped driving cab, and during my better-half's last few months driving. It's always a great way to unwind, as well as feeling like I've earned a big meal. Also, I've seen changes in parts of the wooded areas over the years, as well as seeing houses go up around the park. It usually takes me an hour or so to head out and back; by that time, I'm usually ready to put my feet up before putting the finishing touches to the meal.

When M.H. and G. showed up, it was almost time to take the turkey out of the oven. No problem there. But while my stuffing usually gets good reviews, this year I changed things a little; let's just say that the stuffing was definitely memorable, but not in a great way. Some of the stuffing had been cooked inside the bird; that, of course, ended up at the bottom of the pan, along with part of the turkey, in a liquid-y mess. The stuffing that was baked outside the turkey was too crisp on top and basted waaaaaay too much below that crisp top layer. When it got chucked, there was a slight pool of yellow margarine at the bottom of the bowl. Actually, it would have buttered a medium-sized movie theater popcorn. Like I said: Memorable, but not in a great way.

M.H. and G. brought over some mac and cheese that M.H. fixed at our place, along with some rolls and some homemade chocolate chip cookies that G. had baked. They'd also brought along a few other things we needed. (Thanks!) (Also: G., if you're reading this, another batch of those cookies would make a great Christmas present! That's a not-so-subtle hint; they were really good!)

After we ate and talked for a little while, M.H. and G. headed back home and I started rounding up plates and glasses and bowls and pots and pans and got to work.

We still have the month of December to get through, including Christmas. But as long as the New Year rolls around, we'll make it.

Note: You can also check here for some of my other Thanksgiving memories.

Yesterday's Meal - Another memory in the making

My daughter M.H. and her family moved here over the summer, arriving June 30. M. and B. had lived in Rhode Island, which is where B.'s family is from, for the past 15 years; their daughter was born there.

After moving to their own apartment in July, their car proceeded to die; nothing like a blown engine to kill a car. Granted, it wasn't their fault; M.H. had checked fluid levels, etc. But that particular car had been trouble from the start. They picked up a scooter - basic transportation - but not something that can be used to cart the family around. Which brings us to holidays...

B. is one of several siblings, all of whom met up at their mom's house for holiday meals. The plan, once they were in the apartment here, was that they'd come here for holidays, thus starting new memories...but this was before the car died. The buses, which run on an altered holiday schedule, would have to work, since cabs between their place and ours is a little much. But since buses don't accommodate dogs (unless they're service animals), and since their dog would need to go out periodically, the plan was that we (my younger 2 sons and I) would go to their place.

Two of us headed for the bus stop around 10:20; the youngest hadn't felt up to snuff the evening before. The two of us hoofed the almost 3/4 - mile to the stop with several minutes to spare; ten minutes later, we exited the first bus and headed across the parking lot of a strip mall to catch the second.

This particular strip had been here forever, it seemed. There had been an A&P here when I first moved to the area, more decades ago than I care to mention. There had also been a dollar store, a restaurant where my sister had once waitressed while putting herself through nursing school (the restaurant has moved twice, now settled nicely maybe two miles away), a drugstore, and, out front, a bank that had put up a huge Christmas tree made simply out of lights, placed on its roof Thanksgiving weekend, that stayed through New Years'; the thing could be seen for miles. Then the A&P pulled out of the area, another grocery store moved in, but that ended up vacating the mall several years later. Half the strip mall has been bull-dozed, the drugstore is now where...well, you get the picture...

I called M.H. from my cell phone as we walked through the lot. "We decided not to come," I told her when she answered.

"What?!"

Not to worry, I told her. We were on our way to the second bus.

A young man sat at the bus stop. While we waited, he mentioned that the bus should be there in a few minutes; it was, and we all boarded, en route to holiday meals.

"Hey, how are you guys!" the driver exclaimed. Bob used to drive the Shuttle bus, a route that my son M. and I use a lot. Back then, we discovered that Bob's one food weakness was pizza, while his favorite football team were the Steelers. ("Does it get any better'n that?" he asked one Monday when he mentioned he'd watched the Steelers beat a friend's team while watching at his friend's, and eating pizza.)

We got caught up while picking up other passengers, discovering that he'd put in for a transfer back to the Shuttle bus.

"So, what's your daughter putting on that Thanksgiving pizza?" Bob kidded, to which we responded, "Turkey, of course!"

A small group of men boarded the bus; it soon became apparent that they were vets and were heading to the nearest American Legion post for dinner; they exited maybe two stops before us.

"We need the stop right after the Pinellas Trail," I told Bob as the vets piled off to head for the Legion. M.H. had told me that there was a stop directly across the street from their apartment complex. But it turned out that that stop was the second one after the trail; Bob stopped at the first one, which was immediately after it, which was across the street from the east end of the apartments. We thanked Bob and told him it was great seeing him again.

"See you soon," he said as the doors shut.

The bus's back door shut at the same time; the man who'd gotten on when we did was getting off here, too. While we were heading more toward the west end of the apartment complex, he was heading toward the east. He climbed over the wall at that end, then slid down a short hill, before walking off toward the south-east end. M. and I headed west for the complex's main entrance.

As we walked along the sidewalk, I spotted the stop that M.H. had told us about. "Now we'll know where to get off next time," I told M. He nodded.

Soon we were knocking at their door. B. answered the door and let us in with a "Happy Thanksgiving."

The apartment smelled of turkey and food. I handed over a bag that I'd brought from home: two loaves of freshly baked pumpkin bread.

We relaxed over munchies, then feasted on turkey, potatoes, stuffing, casserole, bread, rolls and pie. M.H. had started the turkey at one that morning, before heading to bed. "Then I got up at four, basted it once or twice, then got up at eight and set the oven a little hotter." It was her first official holiday turkey, and it turned out great. The casserole, from a recipe she picked up at the local Publix, was a nice new addition; M. and I both agreed I needed to make it some time in the near future.

We ate, washed down everything with soda, gabbed, listened in when B. talked to his mom on the phone ("Tell Grandma to Skype us when she calls back!" G., my granddaughter, told B.; "Did you hear that?" he asked his mom, then told G., "She said she will," then, just before he hung up, I told him to tell his mom "happy Thanksgiving" for us), gabbed and ate some more.

Too soon, M. and I had to head for the bus stop to head home. "When does the bus come by?" M.H. asked. I thought it was in maybe 10 minutes.

Turned out, we could have waited another 5 or so before heading out. But since the buses on the holiday schedule are sporadic, we needed to be on time.

As we waited on the bench to head back, I thought of all the women and men who'd had to wait for buses over the years, including on holidays. It seemed, well, not quite sad or disheartening, but working class. I also thought of a short story in a book of working class writings, edited by Janet Zandy. The book is titled Calling Home: Working-Class Women's Writings, an Anthology, and the story I thought about, Maggie May by Lucia Berlin, describes a young widow who cleans houses for a living, riding buses between jobs. It is a beautifully crafted story in a wonderful anthology. I think of the story periodically when on the buses.

Soon, the 74 arrived; it was not the same one that we'd arrived here in, so, of course, we didn't see Bob. At this point, M. and I were the only passengers; the man who'd gotten on and off the same times we had, earlier, was nowhere to be seen. But within a few stops, we were joined by the vets who'd ridden with us earlier. They were quietly thankful for the time they'd spent together, talking about ordinary life. Most of them got off where they'd gotten on when en route to the Legion, but one stayed on until after we'd exited the bus on our return trip, reading a magazine about, I think, South Carolina.

Turns out we just missed the second bus we needed to get home (which was the first bus we'd used that morning), so we ended up taking a cab the rest of the way home; it was that or wait a little more than an hour for the next bus.

Was it a good holiday? Yes. Did we enjoy it? Definitely. Will it be part of our family memory?

Thankfully, yes.

Thanksgiving stories and meals

Whether you're a Christian, Jewish, Muslim, B'nai, atheist, chances are you have holiday memories. Most of us have them, and, if we've been exceptionally lucky, most of those holiday memories are good.

A few of mine deal with having my grandparents on either side coming to our house, opening presents (at Christmas), and large meals involving turkeys and/or ham, depending on which set of grandparents were coming over. In one house, when we lived in Connecticut, there was a music room (it was a large Colonial house), where we'd all gather to sing holiday music while Mom played the piano. Very Norman Rockwell-esque.

Now, I'm sure that things weren't always wonderful - someone would have too much to drink, this relative wasn't talking with that one - but we tend to forget those less-than-stellar memories, or, if we remember them, gloss them over into something bordering on amusing.

Once I moved out on my own, the memories changed. Better? Just different. There was the first Thanksgiving that my ex- and I spent together without going to either set of paretns' homes. Although I'd fixed mashed potatoes before, the potatoes that year never quite cooked enough to mash, yet somehow managed to burn. Thank goodness, the cooking skills improved...

There are several Thanksgivings that stand out...

My ex- used to tell me that cooking a large holiday meal was a waste of time and energy; his mom used to settle on meatloaf and a dozen deviled eggs. "How about meatloaf?" he'd ask.

For Thanksgiving? Christmas? I'd think. It was what we might have for Sunday dinner, not holidays.

"I'd be happy with just a dozen deviled eggs."

Deviled eggs ended up on the menu, but they accompanied the turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, rutabags, peas-with-pearl-onions, and pies; they weren't the main dish.

Yet every year, we'd hear that "I'd be happy with just a dozen deviled eggs."

After we split up, I invited him for a holiday meal. When he showed up, I handed him - yup, you guessed it - a plate with a dozen deviled eggs.

"But I smell turkey and apple pie!"

Aren't you the one who said...? Finally, I let him off the hook; yes, he'd get the turkey, et al, if he didn't mind sharing the eggs, The eggs may've been hard-boiled, but that didn't mean I had to be.

Later, after my ex- passed away too young, I met my future second husband. Thanksgiving was coming, and I invited him for dinner, as well as one or two other co-workers (we drove for a local cab company at the time), and several relatives.

The deal was that Paul would stop by around 4:00. Around quarter til, I realized I'd forgotten something at the store and told my oldest son that I was running out to pick it up; would he please keep an eye out for an older gentleman who, I hoped, would be stopping by?

"Sure, not a problem."

I left J.A. chopping up the rutabaga in the kitchen.

But Paul drove by while I was out, didn't see my cab, and kept going. I heard dispatch talk to him once while I was heading back to the house, but didn't tell dispatch to tell Paul to stop by; I figured he simply would. And the driver I really didn't care about did show up, after we'd eaten, and I'd dropped J.A. back at home in the Ybor section of Tampa.

The next morning, when I went to cash out, Marsha - one of the cashiers - asked, "What's this I hear about you standing someone up?" That's when I learned that Paul had driven by while I was out; he thought I'd stood him up, while I thought he stood me up.

I offered to bring him some turkey, but by that time, it was too late. He also wouldn't come for Christmas dinner.

By the next year, we were married. We kidded that it was funny that we had to get married to insure that he get a home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner. We also planned how things would go when we cashed out the next day.

Friday morning, as we wandered into the office and saw that Marsha wasn't busy, we started in.

"You promised that if we got married, I could have a turkey dinner," Paul said loudly. "Instead, you handed me a stupid bologna sandwich!"

"It was turkey bologna!" I shot back.

"Can it, you two!" Marsha said. "I'm not buying it!" Busted!

Years later, Paul died in October, three weeks shy of our anniversary.

The first week in November, when I went grocery shopping, I picked up a turkey. I wasn't sure I was up to Thanksgiving, but I figured my sons deserved a dinner (and one with more than a dozen deviled eggs). Besides, Thanksgiving had been Paul's and my holiday.

A few days later, a friend - who happened to be my oldest son's mother-in-law - called from Tennesse. "A friend of mine is going to be calling you in a little while. Her name is C___, and when she calls, just accept what she's doing and thank her."

Sure enough, C___ called maybe fifteen minutes after I got off the phone with Linda. "Just wanted to let you know I found out from J.A. which Publix you shop at, so I ordered a complete Thanksgiving dinner for you and the boys. Comes with corn bread stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, an apple pie and a pumpkin pie. It's already paid for so you can't say no. Just pick it up after 3:00 p.m. the day before Thanksgiving."

After hanging up, I got to thinking. The turkey I'd already bought would stay frozen until Christmas.

A few days later, I was on the phone when J. informed me that the next door neighbors were walking up the sidewalk pulling their year-old twins in a wagon.

That's nice, I said.

"They're carrying a large box," J. said. I was curious, but stayed on the phone. "They're coming up to the house!"

That got my attention, so I cut the phone call short and went to the door. Turns out, we were being handed a third turkey and all the trimmings! After thanking the neighbors, I set about putting the extra turkey and trimmings away.

Then, about three hours later, another neighbor came by with her mom...who was handing us - you guessed it - turkey number four!

Now the freezer needed to be repacked to accomodate three frozen turkeys (the one to be picked up the day before would be pre-cooked).

The next morning, I called my friend Kevin so I could head to the store. On the way there, I told him about the four turkeys. He kept giving me these weird sideways glances.

Finally, as we waited at a traffic light, he informed me, "I'm glad you told me about this now instead of later." Turned out the $5 I was about to hand him for the ride to the store would have been enough to allow him to buy a complete turkey dinner from Publix, to be picked up the day before Thanksgiving.

"No, please don't," I told him. I also told him that, while I really appreciated the gesture, five turkeys were definitely a little much.

I'm sure Paul was looking down at this, smiling, and thinking that it sure beat a bologna sandwich and deviled eggs...