For some reason, I am really excited about Thanksgiving this year. Maybe it’s because we’ve really been talking it up to the kids and they’ve been drawing hand-turkeys and talking about Charlie Brown and all those things that go along with this holiday? It’s also a chance to get together with Robyn’s family who we definitely don’t see enough these days. Chloe and Gabriel really enjoy playing with Douglas and Hannah so it’s an opportunity for some big fun and now that the kids are a little older, they pretty much entertain themselves while we get some “adult” time to chat with family. In any case, I was thinking about some Thanksgiving memories last night:
When I was really small, we would go to my Aunt Gloria’s house in Southbridge, Massachusetts for the day. In my earliest memories, she had this big house that I don’t really remember very well with the exception of a few interesting tidbits. For example, there was an airplane in the basement. Yes, that’s correct. I wrote “an airplane in the basement”. I’m not sure why it was there – I think the story was that the previous owner of the home was refinishing his small aircraft down there and then was never able to move it out. There was also some story about the person who originally occupied the Big Bird (from Sesame Street) costume living down the street. And of course the story (I don’t remember the actual event because I was too small at the time) of the time my father and aunt scared the bejesus out of my sisters and brothers by telling ghost stories. Ah, what a magical place!
In later years, my aunt moved into a smaller house not too far from the first where she lived with her son and daughter (until the moved out on their own) and that’s where the majority of my childhood Thanksgiving memories were made. The details of that house are burned into my memory; walk in through the door on the porch, turn left to go into the kitchen with a small dining room off to the left, walk straight past the bathroom on the right and bedroom on the left into the “master” bedroom where the coats are piled high on the bed. Turning left just before the master bedroom brings you into the living room where, if it’s after dinner, you will find the television tuned to football and several relatives sitting around watching the game or snoozing on the couch. There was also the basement with a dart board but that was pretty much the whole house. The memories are so strong because when we were really young, for much of the day, my cousin Peter and I would be playing hide-and-seek all over the house and if the weather cooperated, we’d play outdoors as well.
The smell of baking brownies always evokes memories of Thanksgiving. This is because brownies were my mom’s Thanksgiving “thing” every year. Each of my aunts had a particular food that they would prepare and bring to Aunt Gloria’s for the holiday and brownies were my mother’s specialty. I can remember watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade on TV and smelling those yummy smells coming from the kitchen. Everyone always raved (or maybe it was just me!) about the brownies but the funny thing is that they were just made with boxed mix and I think she would add some walnuts. The other food that stands out in my mind from those days were the corn “sticks” that one of my aunts made. They were super dry but really delicious when warm and topped with butter and accompanied by a glass of milk.
One of the Thanksgivings that really stand out in my memory was actually much more recent than those at Aunt Gloria’s house. I think it was 1995 or ’96 or maybe even ’97. I had driven back to Massachusetts from New Jersey to spend the holiday with my immediate family at my Mom’s house where she lived with my sister and her girlfriend. Monique had remodeled the entire house and it was finally done. Deb and her family were coming over as well. The whole family was there and we were all having fun preparing and talking. After dinner, my sisters and I walked down into the woods with my nieces to pick princess pine for some wreaths that Monique wanted to make for Christmas.
Princess Pine
Wreath-making was an old tradition among my siblings. I believe my brothers began making them to sell to make money for the holidays in their late teens and they passed along the knowledge to my sisters. Although I never made any wreaths myself, I was usually drafted to help pick the princess pine that was used. When Monique was making them, she turned it into quite a little cottage industry; earning enough to get me some really nice presents on those Christmases! Of course, each wreath needed a large number of sprigs so we would usually spend a lot of hours filling several large garbage bags full of princess pine each winter to meet the demand.
As my sisters and I, with my nieces in tow, made our way into the forest behind the house where the three of us had grown up, we laughed about the good times and adventures that we had all experienced in those woods. The technique of finding and picking the princess pine came back quickly and all too soon we had each filled a bag with the fragrant, fluffy sprigs. It was a cold late November day and the kids were beginning to complain so we made our way back up the hill and to the warm house. I don’t’ recall too much more about that day but it was a good one. So much has changed over the last decade and a half or so…but I am thankful for those few hours spent together in the woods.