Sunday, November 22, 2015

Thanksgiving Ties

Later on this week everyone will gather around the table and feast on turkey, sweet potatoes, stuffing, green beans, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie.
And the significance of that table, at least for me, is the memory connection.
Who doesn't have memories of Thanksgiving Past?  I can't imagine anyone who would admit to not holding a mental picture or two of how it was when they were young.
My memories of Thanksgiving always involved a trip to my grandmother's house.  She lived with my aunt and uncle and cousins.  All of us would travel to Aunt Taty's for the day...some of us from a distance, and some from close by.
The first thing I remember is my grandmother standing at the sink, peeling potatoes.  She would use a common paring knife but the skins came off in almost paper thin strips...you could see through them.  When I peeled potatoes she monitored my every move...making sure that I didn't cut too deep and waste good food.  That was her motto. 
Aunt Taty would make the turkey and dressing.  She always baked a ham too because my Uncle Bill had been raised by a Kentucky mother...and he had ham at Thanksgiving. Period. The end.
Aunt Nettie brought the pumpkin pie and salad.  Cousin Ruth brought the fresh made rolls.  My mom always made her famous cranberry relish.
All in all we had plenty of  food and more than we needed.
But the one constant that comes back to me every Thanksgiving is the tie that binds us all together.  It is a gossamer thread as light as silk, floating through the air, catching light as it passes.  It is the sound of my aunts and uncles and cousins and my mom and dad, laughing, telling stories, sharing news.  It is the smell of food, spicy,savory odors, filling the house with a flavor you can almost taste.  It is the warmth of the stove heating the rooms until you have to open the windows to let in some fresh air.  It is love on all the faces gathered around that table.  It is grace said by my Uncle Henry as he bows his head and folds his work-worn hands in prayer.  It is that scene that will never leave me, no matter how many Thanksgivings I celebrate.
It is the tie that binds us together, past to present, with a firmness that will never let go.
May your Thanksgiving be filled with all sorts of memories...good food, good company, and good times.


Tuesday, November 10, 2015

East, West, Home is Best

It seems as if the weeks between September 24th, when we left Ozark County and headed east, and October 31st when we finally crossed the county line, after many miles of driving and many happy days of visiting and being shown the sights of Cape Cod and beyond....it seems as if those weeks were a dream.
But home we are.  And hopefully, we will stay here on the hill for a few more weeks before we venture out on a trip again.
Don't get me wrong.  I had a wonderful time.  Fried clams, clam chowder, donuts every morning with good coffee and better company.  Long walks on the ocean beach.  Reading in my lawn chair looking out over the azure blue of  Great Pond reflecting the October sky.  Whale watch.  Ferry ride to Nantucket and spending the night in a garret room overlooking a cobblestone street.  
Cold mornings, warm afternoons, nights when the stars and the moon shone so brightly you could have sworn they were moving down so you could touch them.  Lovely sunsets, spectacular sunrises.
And yet.....when we set out from Paducah that Halloween morning all my heart could say was...I  am going home.  I am  just a few hours away.  And I am going home.
It is good to travel.  It is good to touch base with family and friends.  I always regret that we live so far apart and our time together seems all the more precious because of that distance.
But precious too is seeing those familiar hills rising up to meet me.  Each familiar house.  Each lovely curve in the road.
Calling.  Calling me home. 

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Blessed beyond measure...

A little nameless, wordless tune has been singing in my mind today.
This is the season for thanksgiving, as if we needed a special time for that.
I am blessed beyond measure.
Blessed beyond what I deserve.
Blessed to be alive and breathing.  Blessed to see and hear the world around me.
Blessed to see the sun rise in the morning and the stars crowding over my head at night.
Blessed that I have a home to come to when I am tired and hungry.
Blessed with friends and family who love me for who I am, not what they expect from me.
Blessed.  I am blessed beyond measure.