Happy Thanksgiving (hopefully that is not yet politically incorrect). No doubt there is a society somewhere for the prevention of cruelty to turkeys, an animal so dumb it can’t be out in the rain because it will look and drown itself.
The older I get the more I think of holidays gone by especially when I was a child and a holiday did not involve any work on my part. I now know that my mother and grandmother did a lot of work before, during and after each holiday meal – and no dishwasher mind you. The men watched TV and the women did all the work, and that was the good old days, ah, not so much I’m thinking now.
Nevertheless I still miss those dinners and the tradition. First thing on Thanksgiving was to watch the parade on television, that was after we got a TV, we switched channels from the parade in Detroit, to Philadelphia and New York with the main objective of seeing Santa three times and avoiding the boring singers from time to time.
Dinner was promptly at 3:00 PM as I remember (and I do mean promptly) with turkey carved at the table by my grandfather, stuffing, two kinds of cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, creamed onions, peas, sweet potatoes and dishes of olives and celery sticks at each end of the table. And then there was pumpkin pie, mincemeat pie (no meat in mincemeat by the way) and as I recall someone didn’t eat either so they got an apple pie.
One of us kids always got into trouble for something, spilling a glass of water that was in my grandmother’s best crystal glass, or eating all the olives before everyone had his or her share. The great olive caper was an especially notable event which got my grandmother really upset, but given it was totally Doug’s fault I have only a limited memory of the event where we had to run to the store for replacement olives.
We always went to my mother’s, mother’s house for holidays because we had no place else to go. It may have been a routine some would find boring, but one I recall with great fondness. In many ways they were the good old days, especially for us kids.
But it’s time for new traditions and new memories and I get to live it all over again through my grandchildren…the good news is they don’t like olives, yet. Come to think of it I don’t think they eat mashed potatoes, stuffing, celery or mincemeat pie. All I have to do is keep a close eye on the cranberries.
Wait until Christmas, I get the fruitcake all to myself.