I Don’t See Thanksgiving Happening This Year
The election is poison, and my family has swallowed it
Thanksgiving has always been the most important holiday in my family. Don’t get me wrong, from a materialistic perspective, Christmas rules. But my parents and grandparents set a tone of specialness, of tradition, of collective contribution for Thanksgiving.
A tradition of gratitude
Shared gratitude was more than just saying, “Yeah, thanks.” It was the expression of traveling inconvenient distances and gathering. It lived in the browns, reds, oranges and yellows that proclaimed the fleeting autumn.
It was in the harvest of foods that were traditional, with long histories in our New England staples— cranberries and squashes of all kinds, pumpkins, mince and even turnips.
And then there was the inclusion of new foods — vegetarian, vegan, “gluten free,” and the contributions from the younger contingent with their specialties of other cultures, a counterpoint to the idealized “Pilgrims and Indians” fairy tale.
My mother
My mother approached Thanksgiving with a reverential energy for a meal that would serve at least twenty people. Typically, she was a rather indifferent day to day cook.
