The last time your family gathered in this house to celebrate Thanksgiving was 2006, so I felt it was a wonderful obligation to open the house to others on this day in honor of the spirit it carried for many years.
So we decided to deep fry a turkey, roast vegetables, and roll out a pumpkin pie. Nanny brought too much food to count and others brought a myriad of more dishes. Within hours the countertops were filled with glass pans that held stuffing, cheese, and carbohydrates made with love and anticipation of being together. We turned on jazz music and a muted football game, threw the curtains open and asked the sunshine to warm our house.
People arrived in groups with smiles and jokes. We greeted with hugs, poured drinks with laughter and wandered from indoors to out without a care. The children took to running in circles through the garage and yard, into the side door and alongside the kitchen, where I stationed myself and timed the last of the dishes cooking and reheating. We could not stop talking about the hummus appetizer, the Paleo gravy made with cashews. We said thanks, we ate, and we raved.
We drank coffee, threw the football, and sat talking.
The cutting, cooking, cleaning, and preparation for days like these are the art that is creating life. It cannot be in vain, for now that day is captured in each of our memories in different ways. We may not recall finite details but we will remember how we felt, we will remember the love and the joy. And the gift to possess these moments is the greatest for which we could ask.
We parted, full of food and even more, full of spirit.
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