It’s that time of year again.

Time to plan a huge meal, often for more friends and family than you see any other time of the year.

Time to start thawing, brining, cooking, baking and smoking days before the Tryptophan coma is induced.

How many guests will there be? How many appetizers? Are there any dietary restrictions? What time should we plan on eating? Should we ask so-and-so to bring their special concoction?

Then there’s the math . . . how big is the turkey? Will that be enough for everyone? How many pounds of potatoes will make enough mashed potatoes for all? How many rolls should we have? Are stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and rolls too many carbohydrates? That reminds me, is it stuffing or dressing?

Controlled Chaos

When I think of the Thanksgivings of childhood, I remember the days of preparation and anticipation of the big day. Hindsight tells me it was the day Mom worked the hardest, but also the celebration that gave her the most satisfaction. It began weeks before, with personal invitations to friends that might not have other plans. Mom amassed an amazing array of non-biological family to tempt with an outstanding meal. As I entered my teens, I hoped the guest list would include my older siblings and their families because they were the best company of all.

The week before, Mom would sit at the kitchen table with a notebook, pen and an array of cookbooks and recipe cards scattered all around. She’d compile a list of all the guests and carefully compose her menu, from the appetizers to the desserts. There were several dishes that were “Must haves” for our family:  turkey (of course), stuffing, mashed potatoes and her perfect gravy, Waldorf salad and pumpkin pie. To that basic fare, if J– would be in attendance we’d have carrot and raisin salad. Later years saw the introduction of Sweet Potato Souffle’ or any other recipe she’d found recently that she wanted to try. For dessert there had to be a few pies:  pumpkin, apple, and possibly peach or rhubarb. All to be topped off with real whipping cream, Cool Whip was fine for other days, but not on Thanksgiving.

The chaos ramped up day by day until the morning of, which often began at 4 or 5 o’clock in the morning and didn’t stop until late in the evening. Mom wouldn’t stop until all the bellies were stuffed, kids in food comas and the coffee enjoyed around the table along with crystal music, jokes and stories. 

Why all the Hullaballoo?

When I think of all the work that went into that one meal each year, I sometimes wonder what the point of it all was and is. What was so great about that one day? For my part, it’s all the traditions and memories created. 

• The early morning alarm meant a special morning helping Mom make stuffing. Mixing the bread crumbs, vegetables, spices and eggs with our hands making a mushy, silly mess in the big stainless steel bowl. Helping to rub the turkey with pepper and sage and fitting it into the paper grocery bag, the secret trick to roasting the perfect bird.
• Gathering all the chairs and leaves for the dining room table & dressing it in the frosty blue tablecloth that perfectly complemented the china.
• The pride that went with retrieving the silverware chest from the seldom opened cubby hole. Carefully placing the settings, including salad forks, butter knives, relish forks and all the other beautiful service ware.
• Helping to place the china plates and little salt & pepper shaker sets, each with their starbursts of silver and frosty blue. 
• Oh so carefully placing the crystal water goblets at each place setting. Scared to death of breaking one but also excited to make music with them at the end of the afternoon.
• My special task that developed over the years of making name cards for each diner in my best handwriting, just like a fancy restaurant.
• Hurrying at the last minute to change into the outfit chosen days ahead – usually one of my fancier dresses or a new outfit Mom had finished late the night before. 

I can see the table in my mind’s eye so clearly. Everything sparkling, everything the best. All of us gathered around for the blessing while exclaiming how delicious and beautiful everything looked. I think that was the moment that made it all worth it for Mom. Her dream was to have a big, happy family and to have enough. She could stand there, exhausted, but proud. Proud of her husband and children for all their hard work and talents. Proud of the finery she had scrimped and saved for, much of it from her Happy Money (funds saved by quitting smoking). Proud of her abilities as a wife and hostess. She could sit down and revel in her accomplishments for the rest of the day.

Personally, I loved the opportunity to dress up, use the fancy china and silverware and just enjoy the time with family and friends. The crystal glasses would inevitably get filled to different levels and a cacophony of crystal ringing would last until someone built up a thirst and drained their glass, or the pie was served. I was often asked to play a song or two on the piano, if I balked at the request, it was false modesty. I loved playing for anyone, anytime. The cards for a game of rummy or the Scrabble board would make an appearance and the competitions would begin. Some years a ping pong tournament begun earlier in the day would resume and a champion determined for the day.

So, when I think of the work that goes into Thanksgiving and someone asks, “Why bother?” The answer is because I love doing my best for family and friends. I love sharing what we can, when we can, and I love making new memories and carrying on old traditions.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I am so thankful for my family and friends. And I am thankful for all of you taking time out of your day to take this trip down memory lane with me.

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