There was a time in my life when I worked hard to follow and maintain holiday traditions. Some weirdly potent combination of recalled childhood moments, impressions of how other families celebrated and a desire to create lasting memories for my own sons, caused me to hold tightly to what I believed were irrefutable and defining holiday actions.
What do I mean?
Well, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, for instance, was required background noise during the morning round of food preparations. There had to be Pillsbury crescent rolls, which alternated between being forgotten to be baked and slightly burnt, and a minimum of three different pies – apple, pumpkin and lemon meringue, thank you very much. The Ocean Spray cranberries were whole berry only and always served with a smattering of orange zest stirred in – a critical consideration which helped make that cranberry log an impossibility on our table.
In some ways, I’ve grown to consider Thanksgiving Day as an important part of my becoming an adult. From helping my mother to set the table with ever so carefully ironed linen napkins, to actually taking on the responsibility of preparing the entire meal one year when my mother was incapable of task, that 4th Thursday of November helped me become a person who can capably cook and serve a dinner which, as we know, can intimidate many.
After I got married and had children, I happily fell in with my spouse’s family and their traditions which included a handmade cheese ball which was roundly mocked, but always consumed, store bought shrimp cocktail and the Cowboys game. Those years were exhausting, but I loved being part of a large family gathering, especially when it came to our boys. Despite my mother-in-law’s dreadfully dry stuffing.
Post-divorce, though, things have been…different. The first few years the boys alternated between homes for the holiday, but eventually, I yielded on the every other year structure. The truth is that the boys’ dad has a much larger family nearby than I do and I wanted my sons to be with their aunts, uncles and cousins more than I needed to share that single day, and meal, with them.
I can make a turkey dinner, with all the fixings, any day of the week.
The understanding that an indulgent meal and the specific date of a holiday on a calendar are only as wed as one demands they be, was liberating. If celebrating a holiday on a day other than the one designated by Hallmark an official calendar of dates, it only stands to reason that the true message of the holiday can also be honored another day.
Or, even every day.
I am thankful for family, near and far, for being loved and appreciated by people dear to me, for opportunities to travel, taste and talk, for sunrises and settings, and pomegranates and their juicy redness. I appreciate a home with heat, a refrigerator of good food and a bathtub that reliably lulls me to sleep. Good health, along with access to medical care when needed, are situations which prompt my most sincere thanks.
My gratitude for moments, both simple and elaborate couldn’t, and shouldn’t, be limited to a single, dictated day. There’s just way too much to appreciate.
Happy Thanks Giving. How about we celebrate again tomorrow?
DelSo 