Thanksgiving Past

I think it's odd. I can't remember childhood Thanksgivings. I remember Christmas — who doesn't? Presents! I guess that's why I can remember almost every Christmas as a child. But that's for another post. Right now, I want to write about a certain Thanksgiving.

I was probably 16, that's my best guess. It was held at my aunt's house. They lived in a great big old English Tudor, and as you know, that is one of my favorite types of homes. Hers was exceptional. Huge, with leaded glass windows and arched doorways. I loved that house. I'm sure that it has played a big part in my love for old homes. It would be interesting to drive by it now and see just how big it really is. Sometimes, as children, we see things much bigger than they really are.  I wonder if that's the case here. It doesn't really matter, though; it was big to me--I loved that old house.  I always will.

It seemed that on that particular Thanksgiving, tons of relatives turned out. I remember lots of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmas, and lots of food. Lots of food. The table was decorated beautifully, and that turkey had to be at least 25 or 26 pounds. There was so much food on the table--so many side dishes brought by all the aunts. We had to eat buffet style because there were so many of us. But that was OK; we were all just happy to be together — one big family. Afterward, the uncles and dads lay all over the sofas and chairs, rubbing their bellies and moaning. Moaning about being overstuffed and blaming everyone but themselves. And then a few short hours later, the pies came out. So many pies--of all types, but the star of the show was the pumpkin pie. Yes, in my family, we are all about the pumpkin pie — we just love a good pumpkin pie. And homemade whipped cream! Gotta have that. Just for reference purposes, I turned into the best pumpkin pie person. Mine is awesome! 

We'd had a good day--full of family, food, and pie. What could be better? We were all cozy and comfy with family all around. It was a memorable day to be sure. However, it has dawned on me while writing this that it may have been memorable to me for another reason. Maybe I remember it so well because it was the last Thanksgiving that I would ever spend with my cousin. She died tragically in a car accident the next year. That was my last holiday with her. We were close. And I miss her. I wonder--what would she look like now? Would she have children? Where would she live? And the lives of my aunt, uncle, and her sisters--how would they have turned out--how different would they be? Her family was mightily affected, as were all of us. And so, I remember that Thanksgiving past. Yes, I remember it well. My last Thanksgiving with her.

I now have a tendency, for every holiday I encounter, to take a lot of pictures. I have to. I am obsessed. What if--it's the last holiday that I ever have with you? What if?

Cooking in my old kitchen