Tom Turkey, happy to be alive and stalking photographers.
My Favorite Holiday.
A day dedicated to food, family, and fellowship.
What's not to love?
(well, the cruelties inflicted on millions of turkeys, but I will save my vegetarian rant and happily eat my squash boats instead of turkey;))
I'm blessed with many happy memories—Thanksgivings at my parents' house, the little cabin up north, and my grandparents' home; a Cajun thanksgiving in the Florida panhandle; southern holidays with J and her family; and, of course, an early harvest feast last weekend with G (post pending. i promise!)
I love the rhythms of the holiday at my parents'. After breakfast, Mom and I tie on our holiday aprons (which mom made several years ago), make pies, and prepare stuffing while Dad and L go hunting. The kitchen warmth contrasts with a typical chilly, grey world outside. Grandma and Grandpa arrive shortly after the hunters return, and the guys watch the Lions win, er, lose, while we continue our kitchen deliberations and sip a little sparkling wine. After the game, the table full, the conversation lively, our hearts happy, we give thanks and eat.
This year, I was looking forward to one more typical Thanksgiving before traditions shift yet again next year...however, our table will be smaller, as Grandma and Grandpa are en route to Arkansas for my great aunt's funeral. I miss them already.
Traditions anchor us to moments. They provide a sense of history—who we are as individuals, as families. And, as life unfurls, they adapt as new roads are traveled—my aforementioned vegetarianism altering my meal, for instance—and new people—G, though he's with his family today—arrive to share in our history.
This afternoon, as candles flicker against the darkness, I'll revel in the company at the table, and also give thanks for those who aren't seated with us but are here in spirit, in our hearts.
"For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.”– Ralph Waldo Emerson