Over the River and Through the Years

The air in late November is great. It is the air of anticipation.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving is a day I love for that reason. It is an over the river and through the woods kind of day. A day of arrivals of family and friends who are visiting or a day of departures to become the visitor.
It is the day for going to the airport, train depot or bus station or watching for a car with outstate or out-of-state license plates to pull in the drive.
It is important on this day to go to the grocery store, the flower shop, and to buy the New York or California (it should be American) wine to compliment the turkey.
Then when Thanksgiving day arrives, so many things happen: The eating, the gathering of family and friends, the dishwashing, the giving of thanks, football, more eating, and more dishwashing are some of them.
We usually celebrate Thanksgiving wilth all the Omaha Cavanaughs unless we decide to travel to Illinois to see the Barretts. We decide at whose house we will celebrate Thanksgiving during one of the November birthday parties.
Last year we had it at our house and it was one of my favorite Thanksgivings. We had lots of people, lots of food, lots of fun and now we have lots of warm memories.
All the family was here and everyone had someone extra visiting from out of town to bring along. We set up tables all over the place.
Grandma Cavanaugh and Aunt Cathie brought over their silver place settings and extra folding chairs. I made table clothes and every one cooked.
John and I put the turkey in the oven, peeled potatoes, and I made the cranberry salad I like and all the trimmings were fixed by our guest chefs.
To make table conversation interesting and to give guests who don’t regularly have the opportunity to dine next to a small person a chance to do so (if they wanted to or not) Machaela devised a seating plan. She put a number at each place, then passed around a dish of numbers for everyone to choose from and then match up with the place setting.
This system worked pretty well once everyone figured out that there was no system. After they found their numbers, which were about the size of a piece of confetti, it was quickly apparent that there was no numerical order.
When I reminisce about our past Thanksgivings, it seems that all run together like the turkey gravy into the Jell-o mold on a crowded dinner plate. But this sameness makes it a tradition – one of elevated noise level and ongoing activity – but nevertheless a tradition and I like it that way.
After the big meal is over we always wait before we take orders for pie. Every year Grandma Cavanaugh is on pie detail. Since the ability to get a pie crust off the rolling pin into the pie tin is a talent I don’t have, I am always impressed when my Omaha mom shows up with seven pies: two apple, two pumpkin, two cherry, and one mincemeat. She explains that once you get started making pies you may as well keep going.
As the day unfolds, the dessert and coffee is served, and things liven up. Children run through the house, conversation groups spread out about the family room and kitchen, some people go outside for fresh air and to toss the football, others stay inside to watch football on TV. Just as a lull is approaching, late arriving guests appear, pumping new life into the party.
Each year I tell my children to think of things they are especially thankful for this year. I suggest the blessings of being born and living in America. They agree that is a good deal, but more important they are thankful for not losing all the soccer games, for toys, for finally learning the seven times tables, for a new jean jacket, and for friends who are finally old enough to drive.
That is okay because they are all things that are part of the bountiful life we celebrate on Thanksgiving.
November 25, 1987