It’s Thanksgiving again. But, how? I say that every year as the holidays roll around, staring at the tiny calendar numbers on my phone in disbelief. Where did the year go? Heck, where did my life go?
There is something about the holidays that makes me pause. Maybe it’s the traditions that tug at my heart strings, or maybe it’s the change of the seasons that makes me feel like a 5-year-old kid jumping into a pile of freshly raked leaves. But the chill in the air seems to warm my heart to just the right temperature.
It always starts just after Halloween every year, when my girls and I start chatting about get-togethers and coordinating family pictures. “I can’t believe it’s November!” (Like we’re surprised! But every year it seems to come at us like a cop doing 90 in a 45-mph zone. There is a certain buzz in the air, the kids are undoubtedly headed into a 2-month sugar rush and Santa threats are about to become as routine as teeth-brushing.
As for me, this is my sacred season. It usually starts when I reach for my old, tattered pumpkin roll recipe – the one I typed up to give to my girls when they left home years ago, which I can barely read nowadays. Despite the faded ink and smudges of butter from all the splatters and spills during family baking sessions over the years, I’m so glad I printed a copy for myself. I’ve seen a lot of different pumpkin roll recipes over time, but I still think this is the perfect one. Not because of the ingredients, but because of all the memories that flood my mind when I pull out the old wooden recipe box it sits in the other 364 days of the year. Yesterday I stood at the counter lost in thought, mixer in-hand, on “high” for far too long, staring at the eggs whipping around in the bowl. I wondered how many times I had done this, and in how many kitchens?
I vividly remember my first Thanksgiving 2,000 miles away from home. I was a 20-year-old newlywed. Mom didn’t trust my cooking, so she sent a letter with 9 pages of hand-written step-by-step instructions on how to make a turkey. For years we laughed about how she only left out one important detail – taking the neck and gizzards out of the bird. Imagine my surprise when I started to spoon the stuffing out! I think I’ve retold that story 42 of the 43 years I’ve been “doing” Thanksgiving. If only I still had that nine-page letter, I would make a copy for my girls and then tuck it away with my old recipe box and re-read it every year, wishing mom were here to reminisce with.
Family is everything during this season – it’s the one we grew up in, the one we raised, the one we married into (for some of us a few times) and the crew we love today. So, when we sit down at Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, we bring with us much more than meets the eye. It’s where we’ve been and who we are. It’s the happy memories dancing through the attic of our minds and the longing for those we miss haunting the basements of our souls. And there’s no better place to spend the time than being mindful of the meaning and the memories, being grateful for the people and love, and to be able to sit in full appreciation of all that has made us who we are today.
So, tomorrow I’ll be sitting down with my children and their families, and myself. I’ll bring an 8-year-old girl with a pixie cut who tried to sneak bites of the potatoes when mom wasn’t looking; an insecure 20-year-old who followed mom’s turkey instructions 43 years ago; and a very happy but stressed out 30-something mom who made her family go around the table and tell what they were grateful for. In my mind’s eye, I can see each of the tables and everyone in the room – the “fancy” tablecloth, the warmth of the room, extra gravy on the dry turkey and the fight for whipped cream.
For me, this sacred season is about reflection and taking time. I will honor the nostalgia of my history and wrap myself in the joy of the present. I will slow down even if others speed up. I will say the unsaid words, and do the anonymous deeds, and breathe life into the gratitude I feel.
Thanksgiving – “giving thanks” – for everything … life, family, friends, the people who have come and gone, touched my life and shaped me, for all that I have and all I have lost because it has made me stronger – all blessings. Gratitude is more than a platitude; it’s the root of happiness.
“Gratitude is the memory of the heart.” - Jean Baptiste Massieu
Shelli Netko © 2023
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