My Favorite Holiday

From my earliest memories, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday.  Not Halloween with it's free candy and glowing jack-o-lanterns, not even Christmas where anything you asked for you might get.  My favorite was the one that centered on food and family and giving thanks.  Growing up in the frigid midwest, I loved everything about it - the strong smells of autumnal spices, the warmth of the house from an oven working in overdrive, the flavors that combined to create its own little celebration on my tongue.  My childhood Thanksgivings were spent at my grandparents' house.  Now my grandmother was an amazing cook but still, it was like a magic trick to see all the pots and pans and casseroles dishes that came out of her oven.  It was like a comic clown car where people just kept coming.  She thought nothing of cooking multiples of every food group.  Salads, vegetables, desserts, breads; no one would leave hungry no matter your taste preferences.  The door was open to anyone who needed a place to be - family, friends, it didn't matter.  There was always room for one more at the table.  We added chairs or cobbled together benches made from planks and blocks.  If we didn't fit in the dining or living room, we ate in the garage.  Everyone was there and everyone brought something.  The arrival of each family was like a party and the volume increased with each addition.  The kids would play football outside when the weather was good or there would be a game on TV to watch.  When it was time to eat, we would gather in gratitude and give thanks to God for the food and one another.  It was loud and joyous.   Dinner seemed to be endless.  The moms would clean up a bit and then came the desserts.  But it wasn't over yet.  The kids would go back outside or hangout in the living room.  And within a few hours someone would suggest making a turkey sandwich.  Yes, the Allen Thanksgiving was an all day event.  It was a simpler time.  It was pre-dishwasher so everybody pitched in to help  It was also pre-Black Friday.  No one was thinking of shopping or seeing a holiday movie.  It was a day devoted to thankfulness and enjoying one another.  These are still very strong and loving memories.  Once I had a family of my own, I tried hard to recreate these days.  It wasn't the same but when I could negotiate my way into Thanksgiving dinner at our house, I was the happiest.  Thanksgiving is still the day I need to be with those I hold the dearest.  This year will be the farthest I've ever had to go to make that happen.  Thanksgiving 2019 is a 3,000 mile plane ride a rental car, and a 5 hour drive.  And at the end, I will be surrounded by loved ones, although not all of them.  Some are far away and some have passed but my heart will fill with the memories of all the Thanksgivings past; those at Grandma and Grandpa's, those on College Ave or Circle Drive and even a few on Fremont Street.  What remains is my love of the food and family and most of all giving thanks. 

Home

Moving always involves a deep and profound creation of home.  You buy a house, you fill it with furniture and surround yourself with "your things."  But there is an unfilled space that can't be named.  It is what's been left behind.  The last home.  The house, the yard, the colors that were the used to be home.  So you set about remaking what was.  You plant, you paint, you remodel and build the new home.  And slowly, ever so slowly it takes shape.  You are making home.  Eventually, with time you adjust to the views out of your windows and start to feel a sense of comfort with them.  One day you drive into the driveway and sense the "ahh" of being home.  It takes so long and happens incrementally so that it is hard to notice.  Then one day you have the thought that I like it here.  I like this rug and those cabinets and this view of the world.  This isn't that home but it is this home.  And I like it.