‘A Day of Publick Thanksgivin’’
— Proclamation by George Washington, 1789
I imagine our family celebrates Thanksgiving in pretty much the same fashion as many, many others. To begin, we cook enough for Hannibal’s Army.
Well, not all of us actually cook, but more about that later.
When our beloved mother was still with us, she would cater to us in every possible way. For example, my father’s favorite stuffing had oysters, and our sister Becca liked sausage. Personally, I could not bring myself to eat anything with onions, and still can’t. Somehow, she would manage to stuff the turkey with individual pockets of each. Thank you, Mom.
At least once, someone would ask, “Is there enough gravy?”
I don’t know, seems to me a gallon should be plenty …
When it came to table settings, Mom’s was always very festive, including her mother’s lace tablecloth, white plates, holiday napkins, and some type of centerpiece, which was usually replaced by a large platter of crudites, or as my brothers used to tease “crew-dites.”
I am fairly certain most families have olive thieves. I remember more than once our brothers, Clint and Todd, horsing around with a black olive mounted on every finger. It was hilarious, even to Mom, who, in foresight, always bought extra.
First came grace
Our dad always gave the blessing; thank you, Dad. After his passing in 1994, Clint would lead us. He has an exceptional talent for providing the most heartfelt and sincere blessing. He usually makes it just long enough for the potatoes to stay warm and the fruit salad to stay cool. Good job, brother.
Our menu is relatively standard: turkey and sometimes a small ham, potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, scalloped corn, fruit salad, and rolls. Oh, and deviled eggs, everyone’s favorite. We don’t alter our pie selection much: pumpkin, lemon, and pecan.
Then came clean up
We’re all very good at helping to clean up. As children, it was regular routine to clear the table, one sister washing, another drying – except for Becca. She had this scam going right after dinner.
“I’m not feeling very well, Mom.”
“Okay, honey, go sit down; we’re almost finished.”
What a bunch of malarkey, especially since she always felt better by pie time.
Now, at holiday time, it’s a three-person affair – one to wash and two to dry – until it becomes a towel-snapping game, at which point I am definitely out of there.
Post-dinner shenanigans
We’re not a football family (I hear the gasps). Instead, we like to play Table Topics, a card game with common questions, such as “What’s your favorite day of the week? ” or “What was your favorite job?” Todd always manages to bring everyone to stitches with his outrageous, nonsensical answers. He’s more entertaining than the game.
Eventually, everyone knows when its time to end our lovely day, but not before we’ve all filled a tote bag with foil-wrapped plates or takeout containers. Still, there is enough left to go for another complete sit-down meal.
My own personal mea culpa
If it were left up to me, we would all be having takeout. It’s not that I can’t cook; it’s just better if I don’t.
So, over the years, I have been relegated to bringing drinks and cheese. I have no idea what the cheese is for, and no one ever eats any. It’s weird.
From our Scandinavian family Happy Hostakefest, or Happy Ringraziamento, from the 1/16th Italian in us. And to The Chronicle, thanks for giving me a place at your table!
Norma Gavick can be reached at [email protected]
