Let all things now living a song of thanksgiving

Grandma's house,1959

This year the holiday’s are going to be extra hard. It is going to take time and some healing after the sudden death of my son. My close family is shattered and I know everything will be different going forward. Maybe it is good to have this space to write about looking back. 

Most of my childhood, Thanksgiving was a set routine; we went to grandma’s. No river to cross, no woods to enjoy. Up the highway and over the bare hills to Palmdale. The High Desert winds were the sound of autumn, often coming in icy cold over the mountains. 

When we arrived at noon, or a bit before, the house was filled with the smells of the good cooking my grandma was known for. The menu was simple: turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes (real). There was always a green salad, her homemade pickles and pies. My mom usually made her pea salad that I never cared for. My aunt would bring some trendy side she found in the paper. 

When everything was ready, usually around 1pm, the coffee table was moved to the side and the table rolled out of the small dining room. All the extra leaves were added and all the extra chairs were rounded up. The table was set with a white cloth and all the best dinnerware my grandma had. Her china was acquired a piece at a time with gas station fill ups, but it was pretty. There might be candles or flowers from the garden. 

The meal was blessed, but we didn’t all say what we were thankful for. We enjoyed a very nice meal, but we didn’t stack our plates high. We savored and appreciated it. We all dressed nicely, used our best manners, took our time, and just enjoyed being there.

After we ate, the table was cleared and put back. That was when the TV in the corner would be turned on so the men could watch the game with their cigars. The women and kids would then cross the street to the park. I remember my mom strolling slowly, with my aunt and grandma. 

My brother and I didn’t run wildly, but we beelined to the playground, hoping the big swings were free. Playgrounds no longer have metal equipment like the tall swings and slide, and the wild merry go round. I can’t say we never got hurt, but we learned. The fun was always greater than the occasional bumps and scrapes. 

After walking off the main meal, coffee was perked while the sisters worked on the dishes. They always told grandma to sit down to rest. She never did. 

Pie was enjoyed, the rest of the kitchen cleaned, and leftovers to take home packed up and loaded. We always left before the early dark of the season began to close in. 

It was my favorite Holiday. It wasn’t about how much we could eat. It wasn’t about presents and the greed of most other celebrations. It was never about decorations of fake pilgrim and Indian junk. Because of my grandma’s early life, we always knew the story was more complicated and the people deserved more respect. It was just about family and gratitude for what we had. 

With our recent loss, I know this year will not be a celebration of family. We are all just too raw. And it is going to take time to readjust around the inevitable changes. It is good to remember the past traditions. But it is more important to take time to heal. Everyone I know has gone through changes and losses over the past few years. Everyone I know is anxious about what the next few years are going to do to our country and the future our kids will face. 

Be kind to each other and yourselves. Hold on tight to traditions that matter, let go of the ones that no longer are useful. And sing songs of thanksgiving. Share the stories that bring us together. Enjoy whatever family you have, by blood or by choice. The winter ahead is long and dark. We need all the light and love we can find. 

Never too old for the big swings