Thanksgiving was beautiful. It was just us and my parents. Dad made turkey because Mom is turkey crazy on Thanksgiving. I don’t really understand because I’m not a fan, but I love that Dad does this for her.
It’s their way.
Dad has psoriatic arthritis. He hurts all the time. But he never complains. Last year Mom was in the hospital with MRSA. She missed Thanksgiving and Christmas at home, and Dad was all out of sorts not making the turkey for her.
It was good to eat turkey and cranberry salad Mom made. Mom made the cranberry salad in spite of tremors that make chopping tough. Actually the salad isn’t easy to make without tremors. She made it anyway. Because Dad made turkey, and cranberry salad is a must if there’s turkey.
So we ate a delicious Thanksgiving lunch that wasn’t about eating but was about spending time with each other, and that was beautiful.
I’d tried to convince them to go out since it was just us. I mean you cook for hours and hours and eat in twenty minutes.
But that’s the point, isn’t it?
It’s giving and sharing and talking and laughing and cleaning up and laughing and then sitting around the table playing dominoes. They taught us how to play Moon. And as we played they laughed and reminded us about Grandma and Grandpa loving that game. They did love to play games, especially domino games and Skip-Bo.
And that’s Thanksgiving too. Memories of loved ones who have passed. Memories in the recipe for cranberry salad and how they loved to eat the turkey skin and how their pie crust was better than store bought and how they ate cornbread soaked in buttermilk for a treat.
Thanksgiving was beautiful. Thanks, Mom and Dad.