Thanksgiving is this Thursday. Yikes! Seriously, where did the year go? It feels like I just finished putting away Halloween candy (okay, I admit it, putting it away, eating it; same difference) and now it’s time to start prepping for my annual turkey marathon.
Thanksgiving, for me, is all about the stuffing, stretchy pants and a wild combination of reflection of the past, laughing at the present and excitement for future. Each year I'm amazed how fast time really does fly. Kids grow up, have families of their own and suddenly, everyone’s scattered across the map. Getting together now requires a cross-country road trip or a small loan for airfare. “Over the river and through the woods” is less a family tradition and more a GPS rerouting error, particularly due to road construction EVERYWHERE. As an empty nester and retiree, I often find myself missing family traditions and I know I’m not the only one.
Memories are powerful, emotion fueling thoughts. One minute you’re remembering grandma fixing stuffing with sage, bread, chicken broth, and I’m not sure what else, and the next you find yourself double checking the shopping list to make sure there are enough boxes of Stove Top. It's good to hold onto the past, but not so tightly you forget to make new memories. Traditions handed down through the family are priceless. That said, traditions have to start somewhere. Who knows, maybe this year is the perfect time to launch a new one. Just think, the tradition you start could become legendary!
While writing this nostalgic look back, I couldn't help but think back to some of my own favorite Thanksgiving memories and traditions. Back in my day (I still can't believe I'm old enough to say that phrase), we piled into our 1966 Plymouth, two-door convertible, and made the trek down Division Street (where the railroad tracks ran straight down the middle of the street like the unofficial dividing line between eastbound and westbound traffic) to grandma's house. Although Thanksgiving anticipation was real, nothing screamed "family harmony" quite like three kids squished in the back seat with no seat belts, screaming about who was touching who. However, all bickering stopped the minute we pulled into the driveway and the smell of turkey and fixin's drifted through the open screen door. By the time everyone arrived, we were packed into that little kitchen like sardines. Truth is, we didn’t think a thing about it, there was always room for one more.
Grandma taught me everything about preparing the turkey. At the time, I didn’t realize she was quietly passing down her “turkey chef” legacy. Eventually, I became the one in charge of the feast. I tried to keep every tradition alive, but some things are even harder to duplicate than Grandma’s stuffing. I guess you could say I mimicked tradition but could never quite duplicate it. As the years passed, Thanksgiving migrated to my parents' place, and with that move, I officially inherited the “turkey chef” title. I became the family’s first version of Door Dash, packing up an entire Thanksgiving dinner and hauling to my parent’s home where the family now gathered. Was it a hassle? Absolutely. Was it worth it? 100%. The best part was always the laughter around the table and the memories that were shared. Memories like knowing to never ask my sister to bring the deviled eggs or the retelling of our first meatless Thanksgiving when grandma’s oven went out mid-turkey. More time passed and things have changed, a lot. Grandma and Mom are no longer with us, but their legacy of love, recipes and laughter live on. These days my home has become the holiday hub, proof that tradition isn't tied to a single kitchen but the gathering itself. To this day, the laughter continues, and the stories get better every time they are told.
Some traditions actually have an expiration date, who knew? Traditions, like passing the “turkey chef” torch, were supposed to continue from one generation to the next, until I tried handing it off to my daughter. Let's just say, the "turkey chef" time honored baton pass didn’t go as planned. She turned pale at the sight of the turkey, and as a vegetarian (don’t ask, she wasn’t raised that way), she made it clear: “Mom, this "turkey chef" tradition ends with you.” So much for tradition! Apparently, the only thing I’ve successfully passed down is how to microwave stuffing and the recipe for mashed potatoes.
Turkey aside, it's worth pausing to celebrate what really matters. So, cheers to old and new traditions, memory making, and surviving another round of family debates over cranberry sauce versus cranberry salad. May your turkey be juicy, your stuffing plentiful, and your holiday pants have plenty of stretch. Happy Thanksgiving and may your leftovers last longer than your patience for Black Friday shopping!
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