Oh for those Thanksgivings gone by! The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade would be on TV, mom would be filling the house with the aroma of butter, sage, and turkey. I’d be watching out the window counting down the minutes until the cousins came . . .
The kids’ table. Tex Ritter on the stereo. Playing outside even if it was cold because the adults needed a minute of peace. Eating the whipped cream off the pumpkin pie because what kid likes pumpkin pie?!?
This year we’re having lunch with another couple–good friends of my husband’s. It’s small but sweet. And last night I baked the sweet potato pie (MUCH better than pumpkin). And made my mother-in-law’s cornbread dressing.
Which is a compromise. I very much prefer the dressing made with cubes of white bread but to say that my husband LOVES his mother’s dressing is an understatement. And love dictates such sacrifices. And yet . . . as I sauteed celery and onions in a ridiculous amount of butter then added the sage and poultry seasoning . . .
I was transported. It smelled like childhood. It smelled like Thanksgiving. And joy welled up in me followed quickly by tears. We won’t be having Thanksgiving with either of our mothers. And both of our fathers are gone now.
I have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Not the least of which is a wonderful family. And while I would like to be with them all–in a way I am. There’s a heart connection that distance can’t touch. And for that, I’m deeply grateful.