Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Growing up in Watertown, my memories of those family feasts are of happy times. The holiday began on Thanksgiving Eve when my mother would start preparing the stuffing. The house would be full of delicious odors as mounds of chopped onions and celery and Jimmy Dean sausage were sautéed,  then mixed with bread crumbs, seasoning, and "secret Irish spices" – which was our joking reference to plain salt and pepper.

Mom would be up at six the next morning, making the final preparations and getting the turkey into the oven. By the time we kids got out of bed, the house was already warm with the aroma of roasting turkey. Store-bought turkeys always came with a bag of bird parts, called "giblets." Mom would boil the giblets in a pan to feed them to the cats, so they could have Thanksgiving too.

I read somewhere that some of our most vivid memories are associated with odor.  To me, there is nothing that says "home" quite like the fragrance of a turkey cooking in the oven. The whole house smells like peace love and harmony.

I have happy memories of those days when we were all young and healthy. My grandparents came to our house for holiday feasts.  They lived in a tiny cottage near Revere Beach. They would drive 17 miles along winding Rte. 16 east to our house on Robbins Road. I still remember one time when they arrived at our house in the old maroon Plymouth sedan. Grandpa was a careful driver and he would frequently get honked-at for moving too slowly for some speed demons. He would respond with colorful curses picked up during his Navy days. We were very amused when we asked my grandmother about the traffic, she remarked, "Well, there sure were a lot of (expletive deleted)s on the road today!" She was of course quoting the words Grandpa had yelled out the window to anyone who honked at him.   

Usually we kids would go to the Watertown-Belmont football game. Dad might walk down with us if the weather was good. After the game we would return home, and the smell of the roasting turkey would hit us as we walked through the door. We had various chores. Mine was to peel and cut the turnip and squash for boiling. While the vegetables were boiling, Mom would serve hors d'oeuvres of cooked shrimp, nuts, celery and olives. For drinks there was always chilled cider and sodas for the young people and plenty of bubbly for the adults.    

Finally the dinner would be served and eight of us would gather around the table. We all stuffed ourselves on roast turkey with mashed potatoes, squash, turnip, green peas, cranberry jelly, dinner rolls. Everyone raved about Mom's gravy. She always said that it was because she used the same water that was used to boil the turnips and onions. I still do not know how mom got everything on the table while still piping hot. We didn't have microwaves back then.

A few years later my daughters would grow-up in Wellesley, but we celebrated Thanksgiving in a very similar manner. Thankfully, when the time came, my wife Judy took on the role of hostess and kept the same cherished recipes for stuffing, gravy, and all the rest: the traditional football game (against Needham), the dinner with all the fixin's – and then the visiting grandparents were our mom and dad.  

A few years ago, the Thanksgiving baton was passed to my eldest daughter, Erica. She has now assumed the role as holiday hostess and will be cooking the turkey this year.   

Now, We are the visiting grandparents. We will be driving over to Natick next Thursday afternoon. If you are going that way and you see a Dodge Caravan that seems to be going too slowly, please refrain from honking. I am just being a careful driver. It runs in the family.

Thanksgiving thoughts

Hope no one minds if I reprise one of my favorite works of holiday-themed flash fiction from a few years ago.

I suppose I need to repeat that it is a work of fiction. 

Over The River & Across the Tracks



It was chilly outside as we headed to Granny Gert's house for the annual Thanksgiving Feast. Uncle Gelbert was driving the old pink and white Nash Rambler wagon. Pap sat in the shotgun seat with the window open. Pap was pretty hung-over and every few miles he would yell for Gelbert to pull over so he could puke out the window. We - Maw, Throckmorton, and me sat in back, bundled-up. We were used to Pap's hangovers, and the lingering smell of his vomit on everything.

We were, of course, late. We were late for everything, except the time back in Montana when me and Throck were born. That was the one time we were early for anything. Still, Ma always said that we could've made it to the hospital except Pap was at the roadhouse when the first contractions came and she had to wait two hours for him to come home to take her to the docs.

When we arrived at Granny Gert's trailer, we piled-out of the car. Granny's dogs greeted us in the usual fashion - barking raucously, jumping on us, glad to have visitors.
"Git back you lot!" Granny shouted coming down the steps waving a cattle prod.
Me and Throck looked at each other wondering if she meant us or the dogs. The dogs thought it was them and they instantly fell into a heap near the trailer steps. Then she went over to where Pap and uncle Gelbert were standing.
"Georgie! Gelbert! You two boys!" They eyed her suspiciously.
"Give us a hug." She bellowed. They complied meekly.
"I see you haven't changed your naughty ways, Georgie." she said to Pap, nodding to the flecks of puke dripping from the side and rear panel of the Rambler. He shrugged.


We all went inside to warm-up.
Ma had brought a package of frozen peas and another of frozen squash. Pap produced a 5th of Gallo Creme Sherry from a brown bag and waved it over his head like it was the US open winners trophy. We all applauded approvingly, except Gramps who hadn't even noticed us arrive. He sat in a ratty old chair facing the small black and white TV screen watching a football game.

Granny, who was returning from the cupboard with a tray of half-filled jelly glasses, nodded towards Gramps with her head, "Somebody go and shake him. His hearing aid batteries went dead last month and he hasn't been much for conversation."
Pap went over and stood in front of the TV, blocking the view.
"Hi dad," he grinned toothlessly.
The old man looked at him, not recognizing him for a moment. Then a big smile. "Georgie, hey, sit down. Watch the game. Did you bring anything to drink?"

Dinner was predictable. Granny heated the turkey loaf in the microwave and poured a can of beef gravy over it. She had mixed up a batch of instant whipped potatoes, and had fried the green peas in a pan. Each little pea had a burn mark, which she instantly renamed 'black-eyed green peas". She proudly announced that she had bought new plastic utensils for the occasion and Chinette plates and cups.

Even though we were 20 years old, me and Throckmorton had to take our plates to a card
table in the living room while "the adults" - Granny, Gramps, Gelbert, Pap and Maw crowded around the breakfast nook. There was a hair in my gravy. But I wasn't hungry anyway.


Halfway through the meal Granny remembered the Squash, which was still thawing on the counter.
"Save your plates everybody, we can have this for desert. And don't nobody throw away them new plastic cutlery!"
After all the remnants of the meal had been cleared and piled in the sink, we sat watching the end of the football game, cleaning our teeth with individually wrapped mint-flavored toothpicks, like the ones you get at the Chinese restaurant. It had gotten dark, so Granny turned on a few more lamps.

We heard a truck pull up outside. Young Billy came through the door, red-faced from the cold, but beaming.
"Hi everybody, sorry I'm late. There was a wreck on the highway. Look what I got!"
He held up a bloody wallet that looked thick with a wad of bills, and a severed finger with a large diamond ring still on it.

Gramps stared at the swag and then asked hopefully, "Didn't you bring anything to drink?"
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