Thanksgiving with the Fam

I knew last weekend that I was in trouble. I tried so hard to convince my mom that the Harp's grocery store Thanksgiving dinner deal was a good idea. It would make our Turkey Day gathering soooo much less stressful -- let them cook the bird, we supplement with some of our favorite side dishes. But Mom was adamant. "I know how to cook a turkey." And, "when my children come home for Thanksgiving, they expect to eat my cooking." Yeah, I knew I was in trouble.

So Tuesday while I was at work, I asked my husband Ed to sit down with my mom and see what she'd like to serve. They came up with a simple little menu: turkey, cornbread dressing, green bean casserole, homemade rolls, the usual things. Oh, and a ham -- my brother won't eat turkey. Then they started a shopping list - which included frosted mini-wheats (my brother's favorite cereal) and what I have come to call The Sacred Milk (for somewhere in Heaven it is written that this house shall never contain less than a gallon of milk). Tuesday evening Ed and I fleshed out the shopping list with ingredients needed for the dishes on the menu. And yesterday morning Ed did all the shopping.

Yes, he did ALL the shopping. He only called me at work maybe four times to confer about one thing or another. And each time I thanked him from the bottom of my heart for helping. Because while Mom knows how to cook a turkey, she's not good at shopping anymore, and she can't drive to the store anyway. Ed got home with the groceries around noon, just as Mom was getting out of bed. She met him in the kitchen, gave him a BIG hug, and told him she wouldn't trade him for any other son-in-law. And then she sat down to read the paper.

Now, MY plan was that some of the preliminary cooking could get done yesterday. Mom gets frantic some weeknights just thinking about "what to feed The Men," so I hoped to reduce her stress level by not having to prepare everything on Thanksgiving Day. On the menu I had written a "W" beside the things that could be prepared Wednesday - the ham, for instance, since the turkey needs to cook The Day Of. But when I got home from work last night, the house vibe was like any other night. Mom, Ed told me, was really looking forward to starting cooking "tomorrow." It would be so nice to have 2 days to get ready. "June," he said, "tomorrow is Thanksgiving." "No," she insisted, "tomorrow's Wednesday," and she held up the newspaper to him. "See, it's only Tuesday." He smiled and said, "Well, June, you've got some catching up to do! That's yesterday's paper. Here's today's." And he showed her the Wednesday paper. They had a good laugh together.

So last night after supper (pizza!), we cooked the cornbread for the dressing, and the ham and the succotash and the cranberries. Well really, I did the cooking and Mom supervised. She admitted with relief and a little sadness that she was glad we were starting early, because she just couldn't have done it all. "I don't know how long it's been since I've done a real Thanksgiving dinner." We talked to my sister, who was buying 3 dozen rolls at Sam's. She and her family will be here about 1:00 today (or maybe 3:00). We made plans to get up at 5:30 to start the turkey. Or rather, Ed joked that he and I would get up to witness Mom being out of bed before noon. And then we all fell into bed.

And now it's early Thanksgiving morning. My alarm went off and I woke up Ed. He roasts a beautiful turkey, basting and slow-cooking to crisp-skinned, Southern Living magazine perfection. We had agreed last night that we would just let Mom sleep and he would take care of the bird. So I came out to the kitchen to discover . . . that Mom was just going back to bed, having already put the turkey in the oven and the giblets on to boil! I don't know how she did it, getting up early - she doesn't have a clock - but she sure did it. And she did it her way: rub butter on the bird, sprinkle with pepper, wrap it in foil, and toss it in the oven. No roaster, no basting, no muss, no fuss. She said it may not be centerpiece-pretty, but it's the way her mother always did it, and it always comes out good. I told her it would be great, and that now I get to learn how she cooks a turkey. And with that, she headed back to bed for a few hours.

Later this morning we'll do the pies and the potatoes, the dressing and the salad. My brother will get up and watch TV in the living room. My husband will read the paper and chat with us while we cook. We'll call my daughter, who's spending the day with her partner's family elsewhere in the state. And when my sister arrives, we'll have dinner.

But for now the house is quiet, people and dogs and cats all asleep but for me. The sun's just up, the crows are cawing outside, and the occasional car drives by. It's Thanksgiving, and I am home to spend it with my mother for the first time in years. More than once today I'll think about my friends back in Brooklyn, all the holidays we've passed together, and for a moment that homesickness will well up inside me til I think I'll just burst. It will be an exhausting day, and I'll go to bed tonight with sore feet and knees. But I'm happy to be here. I'm happy I can help Mom have Thanksgiving with her kids. I wouldn't change a minute of it.

And so, my friends, may your day hold contentment, love, laughter, good food. May you enjoy your parades, your football games, and every other tradition that brings you joy. Cherish the day. Cherish your family and friends. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Happy birthday, Mom!

Happy birthday, Mom! Eighty-two years ago today, the little town of Centerville, Arkansas welcomed you and your twin brother into the world. (That's you on the left, you little cutie!) You've lived through world wars, depressions and boom times, heat, snow and tornadoes. You were high school valedictorian, filling your mind with beautiful poetry and prose and grammar. And you carry all that knowledge with you today even as you forget that you fed the dogs five minutes ago.

Life has thrown you more than your share of curveballs, but you just keep on making base hits. Yeah, I'm using a baseball analogy for you, even though you regularly declare it the most boring game in the world. Truth is, you never were much for sports, or any other entertainment, for that matter. Your life revolves around family and home and hard work. Feed everyone else before you take a bite. Do laundry after your children are in bed. Never spend a penny on yourself that could be spent on someone else instead.

You learned hard work from your mother, who was widowed at 42. She gave piano lessons, took in other people's washing, picked cotton in the Arkansas heat. While your little sister played on a blanket in the shade of a big tree, you worked alongside your mother. You still talk about how heavy that long towsack was as you dragged it down the rows of cotton, how sharp the cotton bolls were on your young fingers. Your grandparents helped all they could back then, but it was your mother who worked and worked. And when she took a job in the next county, you went with her. She took in boarders, walked clear across town every day to her job in the hospital, and still somehow got you kids through school.


Your brothers went to war, came home, and became a doctor and a lawyer. Your sister's husband became a real live rocket scientist. (Here you are all together - cute shoes!) And yours, a junior high teacher. No money there, but there was love, and I think you had some good years - until his heart attacks began. The first one hit when he was only 42 and you were 33, and I don't know how you dealt with the insecurity that created. But you worked and worried and raised your kids, and sometimes late at night we'd rush Daddy to the hospital. You lost him when you were only 53 - my age now - and I remember that even during the week of his funeral you were more concerned about everyone else's comfort than your own.

Your mother never remarried, and neither did you. Not even a date, ever. You took care of Grandma til she died. Lost your beloved twin in a car wreck, an event which nearly killed you with grief. You worked until you were 70. Your older brother, now 90, has been your rock. You helped your son buy the house where you both live. And now Ed and I are here to do what we can for both of you.

A couple of years ago when I began my journey back home to you, my goal was to be here in time to throw you a big 80th birthday party. I wanted to invite the whole family, have a big dinner somewhere, sing something for you with my brother and sister. That didn't happen. But tonight you and I are going out. We'll have an early dinner, then we've got tickets to the special 50th anniversary showing of "West Side Story" at the local multiplex. As usual, you're balking at going out - "Let's just stay home." "We have to fix The Men some supper." But I think we'll make it, and I'll do my best to see that you have fun, because that's why I'm here.

I love you, Mom. You're my inspiration, the strongest woman I know. Happy birthday to you, and maaanny mooooore!!