This morning, in the wee dark hours, I was awakened by my father. I felt him. I know he has long gone to wherever he went and I know he is at peace. This is my brain dredging up family I miss as the holidays fast approach. I think of my father at Thanksgiving. We never began a meal without his saying, “Good food, Good meat, Good Lord, Let’s eat.” That was the prayer we said. When I was small my family said the lord’s prayer. But as we grew up, the prayer was dropped. We never dropped the “Good Food…”
This year D3 and Cedar and I went to a restaurant and had a dinner brought to us. Then they took away the plates. And they did the dishes. It was nice. The food was superior, very American. D3’s second Thanksgiving was much better food than last year, when I cooked.
But for some reason, it felt a bit anti-climatic. Maybe part of the joy of Thanksgiving is the mess it makes, and everyone pitching in to get dinner on the table. Maybe it was more about inviting people into your home and letting the chaos and joy happen. Maybe it was just that after what feels like a million Thanksgivings, the food is not the issue. Maybe it is pumpkin pie for breakfast, and making a pickle and olive plate, and opening the can of Cranberries and sliding them onto the dish that is for cranberries and slicing them. Maybe it is about using 2 sticks of butter and burning the rolls.
Maybe it is about a simple phrase. One that we forgot this year. And Dad came back to me today to remind me that it is the little things, the things we take for granted, that are the glue that keep us rooted in the world.