Doubly Thankful
"Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home." - Carol Nelson
The same might be said for Thanksgiving.
We were home in Ohio for the holiday; my second home. The meal was crazily overabundant, and despite nine people with appetites around the table there were dishes that had just a couple scoops removed. We tried; we made a valiant effort. I felt regretful that by the time the yams came to me, my plate had no parking spaces left in the lot. My roll was already sitting plateside on the table.
Even with the delicious Ohio abundance, I left feeling like something was missing. First of all, we had no leftovers! The signature of Thanksgiving. (To help, my friend Sura brought a bag of her leftovers in the office for me. A very thoughtful friend.)
Also, this Thanksgiving had me feeling a little homesick. My family was less ambitious at the holidays. With flattering nostalgia, I will say that we were purists, and traditionalists. (I was a little girl convinced that the cranberries from the can, with the slices that still showed the ridges of the can, were sophisticated. I loved the way that they slid into an elegant stack on the plate.)
The truth might be that Mom really did not like cooking. Jason's aunt on the other hand, seems to enjoy it. She tried out a few new recipes and I think I counted 3 casseroles on the table. With no critique to her effort, I missed the straightforwardness of unfussy, traditional Thanksgiving recipes.
The irony is of course, that my 'home Thanksgiving' isn't even around anymore. Dad didn't start clanking pans loudly around in the kitchen at 7 am on Thanksgiving morning. The smell of onions cooking for the stuffing didn't wake us up. He didn't walk into the living room where Juliet and I were blithely watching cartoons in our pajamas, carrying a big, big wooden bowl and loaves of bread to assign us our role in Thanksgiving: tearing up the bread for the stuffing. One of my favorite parts of Thanksgiving was eating the raw stuffing before it went into the bird. (I'm not sure if that's gross to admit on a blog?)
To address the lack of leftovers, as well as that yearning for the unembellished Thanksgiving, I cooked Jason and I a small Thanksgiving meal Friday night.
Even this was not a really concerted effort; I may have fallen below even my mother's attempts since the mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin pie all came from boxes, and the turkey breast from a plastic bag that only asked me to cut three half inch holes before putting it into the oven. Cranberries from a can too. (But the outcome was really good, which made me wonder why people spend so much time making these things from scratch when Betty Crocker, Stovetop and Sara Lee have brought their cooking genre so far along.)
It was closer to my home Thanksgiving, but still different. This is one of those times that the silent, steady progress of time feels tangible, in a good and bad way.
Bad: I miss the way it was.
Good: Our first thanksgiving in our first home, the two of us together. (Along with cats who wanted in on the leftovers too.)
One thing I did learn is that cooking Thanksgiving dinner takes a LONG time. 2 hours for just a turkey breast. I had to have my pumpkin pie for breakfast, with 75 minutes to cook and 2 hours to set! I was not about to stay up until 2 am for a slice of pie. Next time I will buy the ready-made pie, not the frozen kind.
This year you could say I was fortunate in the chance to be doubly thankful with two Thanksgiving dinners, one with the Ohio family who has adopted me and the other in our new home, on the eve of our first anniversary.
The same might be said for Thanksgiving.
We were home in Ohio for the holiday; my second home. The meal was crazily overabundant, and despite nine people with appetites around the table there were dishes that had just a couple scoops removed. We tried; we made a valiant effort. I felt regretful that by the time the yams came to me, my plate had no parking spaces left in the lot. My roll was already sitting plateside on the table. Even with the delicious Ohio abundance, I left feeling like something was missing. First of all, we had no leftovers! The signature of Thanksgiving. (To help, my friend Sura brought a bag of her leftovers in the office for me. A very thoughtful friend.)
Also, this Thanksgiving had me feeling a little homesick. My family was less ambitious at the holidays. With flattering nostalgia, I will say that we were purists, and traditionalists. (I was a little girl convinced that the cranberries from the can, with the slices that still showed the ridges of the can, were sophisticated. I loved the way that they slid into an elegant stack on the plate.)
The truth might be that Mom really did not like cooking. Jason's aunt on the other hand, seems to enjoy it. She tried out a few new recipes and I think I counted 3 casseroles on the table. With no critique to her effort, I missed the straightforwardness of unfussy, traditional Thanksgiving recipes.
The irony is of course, that my 'home Thanksgiving' isn't even around anymore. Dad didn't start clanking pans loudly around in the kitchen at 7 am on Thanksgiving morning. The smell of onions cooking for the stuffing didn't wake us up. He didn't walk into the living room where Juliet and I were blithely watching cartoons in our pajamas, carrying a big, big wooden bowl and loaves of bread to assign us our role in Thanksgiving: tearing up the bread for the stuffing. One of my favorite parts of Thanksgiving was eating the raw stuffing before it went into the bird. (I'm not sure if that's gross to admit on a blog?)
To address the lack of leftovers, as well as that yearning for the unembellished Thanksgiving, I cooked Jason and I a small Thanksgiving meal Friday night.
Even this was not a really concerted effort; I may have fallen below even my mother's attempts since the mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin pie all came from boxes, and the turkey breast from a plastic bag that only asked me to cut three half inch holes before putting it into the oven. Cranberries from a can too. (But the outcome was really good, which made me wonder why people spend so much time making these things from scratch when Betty Crocker, Stovetop and Sara Lee have brought their cooking genre so far along.) It was closer to my home Thanksgiving, but still different. This is one of those times that the silent, steady progress of time feels tangible, in a good and bad way.
Bad: I miss the way it was.
Good: Our first thanksgiving in our first home, the two of us together. (Along with cats who wanted in on the leftovers too.)
One thing I did learn is that cooking Thanksgiving dinner takes a LONG time. 2 hours for just a turkey breast. I had to have my pumpkin pie for breakfast, with 75 minutes to cook and 2 hours to set! I was not about to stay up until 2 am for a slice of pie. Next time I will buy the ready-made pie, not the frozen kind. This year you could say I was fortunate in the chance to be doubly thankful with two Thanksgiving dinners, one with the Ohio family who has adopted me and the other in our new home, on the eve of our first anniversary.
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