Thanksgiving Night

 

Thanksgiving night is one of my favorite times.  Too tired to do anything other than sit by the fire.  The dogs are worn out too – they had too much company and too many scraps from the Thanksgiving table.  They are sprawled all over the living room, Sophie in her spot near the fire, Carli in her favorite spot behind the couch and the others sleeping wherever they happened to drop.

We had twenty people for dinner, a dozen around the big dining room table that has held unthinkable numbers of family and friends over at least a century of use. Four generations were at the table. It was good to see the house filled with family again; it’s a house intended for large gatherings.  A second table in the living room held some of the younger bunch – young couples just starting their lives together, with two of those couples about to become three by this time next year.   The dogs, when they made it inside, were well-behaved for the most part, although Scout kept scouting the table and countertops for accessible food. There was lots of talk, lots of laughter, an indecent amount of food and memories sprinkled with plans for the future. It was good to have the house full of people.  I tend to get so used to rattling around in this big house alone, I forget what it was like growing up in a full house. One of my cousins took the cradle that my great-great grandfather made not long after the Civil War.  It's been sitting in my back room since it was last used by him when he was a baby. His baby will be the sixth generation to lie in the cradle.

There was no real drama with the food this year, unless you count my meat thermometer breaking at the critical moment for testing the turkey and a nagging worry that it might not be done when I took it out of the oven.  The normal worry about the rolls, compounded by a recent failure with the last batch I made.  A little uncertainty about the dressing – did I add enough sage, or too much sage, or the right amount of celery and onion?  My mama never had a written down recipe for her dressing and I wish I had asked for more details about how much of everything she used.  I doubt she knew herself.   It’s one of those things you have to guess at.  Or as a meme I’ve read says, “Just keep adding stuff until the ghost of an ancestor says, that’s enough.”  My ancestors are not very reliable at helping in the kitchen so I’m mostly on my own.  But the turkey was done, a ten-pound breast is enough for twenty people when you also have ham, the dressing was pretty good, although I have to remember to buy a really large bowl to mix it in before next time.  My hint for the day is that the cover of a large cake carrier makes a pretty good mixing bowl in a pinch!

I bought paper plates with pretty Thanksgiving decorations on them, fully intending to use them this year.  But at the last minute, I gathered up the china and crystal and set it out.  It took all my mama’s and my great grandmother’s plates, all the heavy Fostoria glasses that were mine and my mama’s, and what seemed like every piece of silver in the house.  There is something gratifying about eating off the same plates my family has eaten from since before I was even born, and washing up is really not that big a chore when you have memories for company.  As I hand wash my great grandmother's fragile plates, I wondered how on earth it survived through the decades of use by a bunch of farm boys!  She was an intimidating woman, if my vague memory is correct - I guess they knew to be careful under her watchful eye. As I washed my grandmother’s ornate silver, I wondered why on earth I don’t use it all the time – what am I saving it for?  When she was alive, we used it every day, for all three meals.  Maybe I will leave it out of its wooden chest this time and enjoy it.

Along about dark, putting all reason aside, I made a plate of leftovers and ate by the fire.  I don’t know why people complain about leftover food at Thanksgiving – I think it tastes better when you’ve had a little time to relax after the hustle of the big meal.  The dogs had already enjoyed their plates of leftovers and were quiet and peaceful, even the one puppy still waiting to go home with his new family.  Leftover food, echoes of familiar laughter, leftover gratitude for a blessed life.  That’s the one leftover we could all use more of – giving thanks every day for the lives we enjoy.  For life itself, for the sunrise and sunset, for birdsong and the night sky, for music and paintings and good books to read.  For family and friends and the sharing of good times and the comfort in bad times.  Saying thank you every morning is a good way to start the day, and saying thank you every night is a perfect way to end the day.  You really don’t need the turkey to make it Thanksgiving!