A Time for Remembering...
Thanksgiving dinner, a poignant tradition, one of the few I still observe...

I like the concept of Thanksgiving; fellowship, good food, and warm times, even in the most dysfunctional of families (such as the one I grew up in). What I could never get over was how long it took to prepare all of the food for the Thanksgiving meal. Throughout the house, I could smell the fragrance of things cooking and simmering in the kitchen, and finally, when mealtime came, it was always soooo good. But later on in life, I began thinking, "all of this cooking, for hours and hours, and the meal itself takes a very short time to be consumed"...that was always a sort-of "Is That All There Is?"-type feeling for me.

But, Thanksgiving is a time I've always revered, for, generally, on that day, all was well with the world. After dinner, there was always football on TV...and Dad and I would always watch the games...we had a rough relationship for sure, but there were good times, too. Maybe not enough good times, but the passage of time helps me put things in perspective...and when there was nothing to quarrel about, our little family could be comfortable, at least for a while. Mom would play her Thomas organ softly in the background sometimes, as the football game progressed, and sometimes my little sister would watch the games with us. She's a Pittsburgh Steelers fan these days, while I live and die with the Seattle Seahawks.

I live alone now, and don't know anyone very well in this new place which I moved to right around this time last year. But, no matter where I am, I always have Turkey Dinner On Thanksgiving Day. I find a restaurant that's open, and in I go. I usually eat alone, but that's okay; I'm not much for dinner conversation. And as I ate, memories of Thanksgivings past come zooming into my brain. When I was younger, I used to be able to eat second and even third helpings; now, a single plate is more than sufficient. This year, in addition to turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, there was a good-sized yam on the plate. And then I remembered my Mom; she always ate yams instead of mashed potatoes. I never developed a taste for yams, but Mom sure loved 'em. She would've savored it. And I ate it, and you know, it didn't taste bad at all.

I found it amazing, how something as insignificant as eating a vegetable could bring back all sorts of memories. And, if there's a yam on my Christmas dinner plate, I'll probably think of Mom again. Then, as well as every single day besides.
____________________

I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving. Drive carefully this upcoming month; ol' man winter's on the way...and he's already arrived in some places. You wanna be around for Christmas dinner, after all...