Easy To Be Thankful
The apple cider begins to simmer and the scent of cinnamon and clove floats through the kitchen and up to the second floor. Santa Clause waves, as wide-eyed children stare from the street below and the parade comes to an end. The bright orange flames from the fire flicker beneath the television, and although we are cozy inside, I feel winter pushing its way towards us. I love the feeling of being warm inside when I know it's blustery and frigid just beyond the panes of glass. To me, cozy can only be properly experienced if the outside temperatures dip below forty. When I began hosting Thanksgiving in my home, the traditions I created made me love the holiday more than any other. For me, it’s a holiday about family, food, and togetherness.
I remember my daughters as little girls waking up early, eager to watch the famous Macy’s parade in Manhattan. As I prepared the house for our guests, they would scream “Mommy look it’s snoopy!” as the massive balloons sailed down the avenue. If I close my eyes I can see their little pink pajamas, adorned with princesses or puppies and their chaotic hair sticky from syrup covered fingers. My baby’s clutching their favorite ducky, catty and tiger in their arms. If the fire wasn't enough, I would wrap their squirming belly’s in a pink fuzzy blanket and tickle them until they begged for mercy. They were mesmerized by the television, then suddenly jumped off the couch to get closer to the TV when their favorite balloon or pop star flashed by on a glittery float. They would take off into a zippy dance in the family room as if the pop star could see them right up front. Spinning around, barefoot in their nightgowns, clutching a fist full of Cheerios, my sweet little girls, in awe of the parade’s pageantry and splashy presentation. They were enjoying exactly what Thanksgiving is about, but as the years ticked away, their excitement for the big balloons became less and less. Each year they would sleep a little later, and today, I’m lucky if they wake up in time to see Santa at the end of the broadcast. They still help decorate the house and set the table, but the thrill of making place cards and learning new napkins folds has disappeared. Many of the magical moments of Thanksgiving were the wonder and awe I saw in my daughters’ eyes. The way they jumped into their grandfathers arms or crawled into my lap for a snuggle, those are the things I miss. The unplanned tender moments that organically appear when a family spends extended time together. A movie reel of football on the television, my nephew resting his head on my sister’s shoulder, silly cousins running circles around the adults after gobbling up too many sugary desserts plays in my head.
As a child, my grandmother hosted Thanksgiving in her cozy house on a main street of a suburban New Jersey town. I have memories of the wishbone, her black cat Charlie stealing the scraps, and my baby cousins insisting on eating rice and mustard for some odd reason. My grandmother dutifully obliged and it has since become a family joke. When I was thirteen, my grandmother passed, and my aunt hosted for a few years while we mourned her loss. We soon joined my parents' close friends’ family, who are more like an aunt and uncle to me, for their hectic, fun, lively Thanksgivings filled with fifty guests, an annual football game on the front lawn, tables in every available inch of their home, and dog bowls covered in gravy.
Once I became a real adult, and settled into suburbia, my house became the go to for Thanksgiving on all sides of the family and anyone else who was available. The attendees often topped thirty-five people, not including dogs, and as the guest list grew, so did my happiness. There were visiting family members from overseas, new boyfriends, drunk dates that caused a stir, friends whose family was far away and of course boisterous chatter and laughter. A melange of people filled my home delighted to eat, drink and be thankful. I sought to have meaning in the day, mostly for the sake of my children, so I began a tradition of having everyone share what they were thankful for. One year, I provided large stones where we wrote what we were thankful for and placed them in a large jar. Throughout the day, everyone would choose a stone and share it with the group. Some were silly, like my daughters being thankful for candy or their stuffed animals, and some were touching, like being thankful for another year of good health. I think my favorite thing about Thanksgiving is the lack of gifts, or religion, just a moment to enjoy family.
Hosting Thanksgiving has been a learned task, don't fool yourself. It’s a skill I’ve honed over the years. I took note of what was gobbled up, and what was passed over. Although delicious, appetizers can be filling, causing the main meal to go uneaten, so I began cutting back on the heavy hors devours. My dear friend Carol is my Thanksgiving guru. She shares her recipes, and coaches me through cooking. Her string beans and shallots are a must at our meal. The mashed potatoes are the clear favorite in our house. Galina, our housekeeper, friend, aunt to my girls, personal assistant, professional organizer, and sometimes even chef deserves all the credit. Her Ukranian cooking includes the world's most amazing perogies, and famous mashed potatoes. I took great care in creating a beautiful fall themed buffet, and when the meal was assembled, I always took a moment to appreciate the beauty and copiousness of our Thanksgiving spread.
The most memorable part of our annual Thanksgiving is when I unintentionally burn the marshmallows under the broiler. Yes, annually. I don't mean a little burn, I mean a full on major fire. One year my cousin pulled the sweet potatoes from the oven, running out into the flurries and dropped the ceramic dish into a pile of snow on my patio. Our fire extinguisher is always in working order on Thanksgiving. I will admit, I completely panic in extreme, scary situations. I have been known to scream like a lunatic, maybe more like a cartoon character, yet my reaction time is slow, or it might be fair to say that I freeze. That’s not my only imperfection. My aunt religiously brings chocolate turkeys for the kids, but somehow I managed to ruin that one year as well. As I carried a piping hot dish of squash souffle from table to table, I crushed and melted a turkey to its death. My girls were so excited for those turkeys, but they laughed and laughed at the puddle of chocolate smeared across the table linens.
Thanksgiving also reminds me of the importance to give back to our local communities. In 2017, I managed to drag my daughters to prepare meals for Thanksgiving at a local community center. I would love to pretend that my children are perfect, and when I say “Hey girls, let’s go help others for Thanksgiving!” they would jump up and say, “Great mom! We can’t wait!” But that's not what happened. My exuberance was met with groans and moans. Sorry to disappoint, but this is real life. I was not the most popular mom that year, but I raised an iron fist and I’m glad I did. Watching my girls peel potatoes and cut string beans made my heart swell. My friend began the event in memory of his mother and from what I understand, she radiated an electric current when she entered a room. Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday, and he longed to give meaning to his first painful Thanksgiving without her. Since we participated in this tribute, I look around my Thanksgiving table and remember it's a privilege to celebrate Thanksgiving with the ones we love. This year, it’s easy to be thankful.