Giving Thanks

It’s hard to believe that we’re already looking at January in the rear view mirror. For many people I know, it has been a pretty rough ride. 

When things appear uncertain, I focus on the people in my life that bring me joy such as my family and friends. It’s only when I have the opportunity to reset, am I able to adapt and see things with fresh eyes to develop a new plan to keep moving forward. 

This past Thanksgiving, the hubster (Eric) and I celebrated the holiday with my mother and her spouse, my oldest sister and her boyfriend, and younger sister. This was the first time in more than a decade that my two sisters and I had been together under one roof. We don’t see each other often, but we do call and text with one another periodically. Our adult lives made it challenging to gather more frequently than I’d like to admit.   

My mother was ecstatic to have her kids (and extra sons as she calls Eric and my sister’s beau, Mike) in her home. The passage of time has helped heal old wounds and soften hearts. I really enjoyed spending time with “my” family. It may be small but I’m grateful to have them in my life. My older sister Sonya, is a (my) life saver, and I don’t mean that metaphorically. When we were kids growing up in Honolulu, HI, a fun day at the beach almost ended tragically when I fell through a hole in the ocean floor. Luckily my sister spotted me go under when she reached into the water and helped me ashore. My younger sister La Tonya is smart, and someone that I’d have on my trivia team. Lastly, there’s Ma. The woman was a teen when she became a mother. She survived mental abuse from her own family and the physical abuse of my father, Judge Sr., she was determined to make sure our lives were different. 

As an adult, I look back at our lives and understand how hard it was for her to raise us mostly on her own. It wasn’t easy. She wanted us (kids) to be kind, compassionate, and independent people that loved one another. She also has always been the greatest cheerleader in my life. 

Thank you, Ma for all you’ve done for us. ♥️

This Thanksgiving was a potluck. Normally in Portland, OR, Eric and I would host a house full of guests and end up with weeks of leftovers. Eric would prepare the turkey with an orange juice, garlic, salt, and onion brine. Before roasting, butter gets massaged on and under the skin to ensure a moist and tasty turkey. This also makes for really tasty gravy that pairs perfectly with my garlic mashed potatoes! This time, we were guests and decided to make our Apple and Sausage dressing. It could be prepared in advance and be an easy dish to travel with the two hours and forty minute drive up to Puyallup, WA. This time, my mother was cooking the turkey. My sisters and I were a bit concerned because Ma mentioned that she doesn’t do much cooking anymore. We joked with our mother about several memorable turkey flops (forgot the salt) and drops (that really happened) of Thanksgiving past. She chuckled and assured us that it would be okay, and she was right. The turkey was cooked to perfection.

As we assembled to say grace, and to express our thoughts of gratitude, the empath in me picked up on feelings of both happiness and sadness at the dinner table. I didn’t want to fixate on what or who, but I would later discover who was feeling sad and why. Once the Collard Greens and Green Bean casserole began to make their way around the table, my thoughts went from my mind, to my belly. Growing up, my mother would always make homemade buttermilk biscuits at our holiday meals. She learned from her mother, and her mother learned likely from hers. I still have memories as a little boy grabbing biscuits fresh out of the oven and getting my hands smacked as I stuffed the steaming hot handful of savory goodness in my mouth. As I got older, I would still manage to grab a biscuit when I wasn’t supposed to. Only this time I manage to get away with it without getting my hand smacked! I did learn how to make biscuits, as did my older sister. This time, it was our younger sister who would have her hand in making the biscuits. They turned out pretty well, and keeping with my personal tradition, I swiped a biscuit before they made it officially to the dinner table. 🙂

The meal was delicious. 

I thought about loading up another plate of all of the holiday goodness, but I don’t have the same metabolism that I used to when I could eat practically anything at any time without issue. Nowadays, I have to factor in the salt content, how acidic a dish is, and how late I’m eating to prevent any gastrointestinal unpleasantness for myself and anyone who might be in the room (sorry Eric). I even passed on the desserts; Pumpkin pie and Pecan (in my family we say pee-can, not pee-con) pie. Under regular circumstances I might have indulged myself with a small slice, but my body said enough was enough. I was content with having only one plate and didn’t want to be uncomfortable for the rest of the night. 

The afternoon was now the evening and we were satiated by a wonderful meal. As we all sat around the living room in silence, we recognized this moment as the universal cue that it was time to go. It had been a long day for me and the hubster. My mother isn’t used to hosting a house full of people like she did when my sisters and I were growing up. She was exhausted, and I could see it on her face. I really think that she was running on adrenaline from the excitement of the day. Now the time had come for all the remaining leftovers to get packed up and taken away to their new homes. My younger sister volunteered to take a bulk of the food with her. Eric and I took our remaining dressing back with us because we could eat with a couple of fried eggs for breakfast later when we got home to Portland. 

As Eric and I hugged everyone, and said our goodbyes before hitting the road, my mother said something that struck me as odd on our way out the door. She said, “treasure this moment because it could be the last time we see each other.” I asked her if everything was okay and she assured me that it was. But the tone had a bit of finality in it. I don’t know, maybe I was hearing or sensing something that wasn’t there due to my own exhaustion. Anyway, rather than drive back to Portland at night, the hubster and I were smart and planned to stay the night in Tacoma. We learned from previous trips up to Seattle that after a day of eating and socializing, it’s safer to return home after having a good night’s rest. When we got to the car, the temperature had dropped and dense fog was developing. That combination made me nervous. I really don’t like to drive. There are too many distracted drivers which always puts me on edge when I’m behind the wheel. Bad drivers combined with inclement weather and darkness, made me grip the steering wheel black-knuckled on our way to Tacoma. It was only 15 miles from my mother’s place to our hotel in downtown Tacoma. 

The following morning Eric and I checked out of our hotel and headed south back to Portland. On the drive back we talked about the good food and how nice it was to see everyone again. We returned home in exactly two hours on the nose. Our early departure (10am) allowed us to avoid any of the potential gridlock related to the Thanksgiving holiday traffic. I also think a lot of people must have slept in from the previous day’s festivities. Once Eric and I got settled at home, I called my mother to say thank you and to let her know we arrived safely. I also wanted to ask her what was going on due to her somewhat ominous message with our departure at dinner. She told me that a good friend of hers recently died unexpectedly and that that was a reminder of how quickly life can change for us all. Well, that explains it. 

Thanksgiving tends to feed the body and giving thanks can help feed the soul.