A few days ago, Lena wrote about her the first turkey she cooked, and invited others to share their stories. I thought I might have done that before, so I checked the dland archives, and of course I did, although it's really more the general story of our first Thanksgiving. The day after, I wrote about our continued Thanksgiving traditions. So here they are.
From November 26, 2003
Thanks
Back in the pleistocene age, circa 1977, the Hubs and I were just married, living in a garden apartment (is that a universal term, I wonder, or local?), and I claimed Thanksgiving for my own.
My in-laws would have Christmas. My parents would have Passover, although they rarely, and then never, claimed it. Thanksgiving was the all-American holiday, the one I could reasonably claim to sponsor in my mixed-marriage household, when such terms still applied to such trivial things as Jewish-Catholic. I wanted to have a Norman Rockwell beautiful holiday. In those days, I still cooked, I read all the home magazines, I had all the accoutrements of the newly married: pots, pans, basting bulbs, nice dishes, stemware. I was psyched, man.
There would be eleven of us: the hubs and myself, my parents, his parents, his sister and fiance, my sister, the first husband (Satan J) and her adorable three year old, J1. Of course, her future offspring, J2 and J3, were there in that she looked like she was about five years pregnant and could barely move at the time.
My mother was just about to head into a bipolar downer and so was unavailable for help with recipes, serving tips, and all that. In fact, we had had Thanksgiving out in a restaurant with close family friends for about ten years by then. I don't really remember a Thanksgiving held in our own house in my childhood.
So I got cooking tips from all the old pros at work, and I got ready. I got cheesecloth to cover the turkey with, which I still do. I was, as they say, loaded for bear.
I discovered that morning, I think, that the oven in our apartment had two settings: off, and, like the oven in Mickey's house in DisneyWorld, VOLCANO HEAT! So once the oven was on, baby, did it get hot in there. By the time our guests arrived, we had every window open and we were wearing shorts and tank tops. And it was your typical New Jersey Thanksgiving weather, not this weird Indian summer-like thing that we're having now. If we stepped out onto the front porch, the sweat froze on our skin.
Anyway, so there we were, ten sweltering adults packed into an apartment that, as it turns out, should really have held about six, and one hyperactive and charming child, who carromed around the room from adult to adult like a pinball on speed. The turkey, as you might guess, was a little dry. Otherwise, there was only one other disaster to speak of: the pecan pie that my sister-in-law made never quite gelled. It was her first try at a pecan pie, and she was embarrased. I might point out that she is now one kick-ass pie maker, and actually had a business making and selling pecan pies a few years ago. Funny.
So that was it. Except that a couple of weeks later, my sister had her unexpected twins and then went into a coma and then woke up a week later with amnesia. Just like in a soap opera. I'm sure I've told this tale before.
It was a few years before all her memory came back, although most of it did, gradually. It came back from the beginning: first she remembered her childhood, and so on. She was sorry, though, that she ever did remember Satan J. Hehe.
Here's how we knew when it all came back. From time to time, my father would ask her if she remembered the Thanksgiving before the twins were born, since it was the last notable thing that had happened, only weeks before. She didn't. He would ask every few months, I guess, and then he forgot to keep asking. But once, it might even have been five years later, I was watching something on TV with the Sibs and there was something on about pecan pie.
Not thinking at all, except about pecan pie and how good it is, I asked somewhat absently "Didja ever have pecan pie?"
And she answered, just as absently, "Oh, only once, but it never gelled, remember? And it was so hot that day."
We looked at each other and looked and that's when we knew that it had all come back.
And that, and the fact that Thanksgiving is the Immigrants' Holiday, and I am the offspring of immigrants, as are we all as Americans, is the reason that I love Thanksgiving so much. What do we do for Thanksgiving now? Tomorrow.
From November 27, 2003:
We Have No Imagination
After the first one, we have the same Thanksgiving every year. Starting with that second year, my in-laws went off to my newly married sister-in-law, and have remained there. So it was something we hosted for my side of the family. Gradually, my mother and sister began to make and bring some of the food. Then my mother slacked off. Then when my mother first became ill, and was diagnosed in September, the doctor said she might not be with us for Thanksgiving, which was a really big deal to us. When she was, we shifted, and had it in her apartment, since it was easier for her. And then she stuck around for seven more. By then, we would have it at my sister's house: more room to move around, easier for my folks. Last year we were without Shirl, but had Thanksgiving at the apartment because it was easier for Jack. The Sibs and I still brought every bit of food. This year, the first year without Shirl and Jack, not to mention that J1 is still in California (he flew in last year) and R is over the sea.
But we've done it virtually the same way for so long, that when J1 first moved out there nearly 10 years ago (no. can't be.) and he asked me to send him some recipes, I sent along a letter that included all of our customs as well. I've since shared it with others in the family; I even sent a copy to R in Wales this year, although so much of it no longer applies. Here's the abbreviated, pseudonymed, version:
Dear J1,
As you know, we have many customs and traditions that we follow each year at Thanksgiving. I know that you're most interested in the food, so I'll start with that.
-- turkey - get a butterball, and follow the directions.
-- stuffing - your uncle makes his trademark vegetarian/Italian stuffing, and the recipe will go to the grave with him. Actually, he makes it up each year, so you're as likely as he is to come up with a good one.
-- 1 or 2 cans of jellied cranberry sauce: In keeping with tradition, every other year or so you will forget to put this out on the table.
-- Heinz turkey gravy in a jar: If you get one jar, everyone will want gravy and you won't have enough. If you have two jars, no one will want gravy this year, and it will remain in your refrigerator until it has taken on a life of its own.
-- pumpkin pie: I make a vegan pie so that your uncle can eat it. If I were you, I'd go to the supermarket and buy a frozen Mrs. Smith's pie.
-- String Bean Casserole with little crunchy onions
-- Grandma's Sweet Potato Casserole with the little marshmellows on top: I'm making it this year, and the recipe is anyone's guess.
That's what we eat. Other things you should remember for a traditional Thanksgiving are:
-- Thanksgiving actually begins a week earlier when Grandpa suggests that we use paper plates, have turkey parts only, and gives us a hundred bucks to pay for all the food that he says no one ever eats.
-- Grandpa always sits at the little table with the kids so they won't feel stigmatized.
-- J2 always sits facing the t.v.
-- K always sits next to J1.
-- No one ever wants to sit across from Grandma.
-- Grandpa always arrives first. He brings a jar of macadamia nuts.
-- J1 always arrives last. You never even knew that Grandpa always brings a jar of macadamia nuts.
-- J1 always arrives last. So, whenever you get there, you can start eating.
-- There is never enough room at the table, which is always in danger of imminent collapse.
-- The ultimate Thanksgiving experience is when the Cowboys are playing the Redskins.
-- At some point in the meal, Grandpa gives all the kids money. He used to give everybody a roll of quarters, but now he gives a $20.
-- Someone -- anyone -- must bring up the subject of body piercing. No one knows how this recently became one of our traditions, but it seems to be important, although no one knows why.
And as for this last item, it seems somehow fitting that just last year, Jack's last year with us, J1 outed his sister and cousins for their various naval and tongue piercings, and tattoos. Just a nice little bit of closure.
WATCHING WIFE SWAP :: ENTRY #1915
READING: The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
