Thanksgiving is upon us once again. Someone asked me what I was going to do. It’s only my husband and me for the last few years. We will do basically what we have done since 1988. Well, I should not say we as we have only been together for 21 years.

In 1988, I was working in my dream job. I was merchandiser for men’s accessories for a large firm. I traveled to Europe twice a year. It was in the days before technology was so advanced. Nothing was digital. Also, at that time I subscribed to 22 different magazines. Most were for work, some for pleasure and some were mixed-use. I love and need to read. Library books were too heavy and too risky to travel with. I used to take magazines with me and shed them across Europe. I was feeling particularly melancholy that year. I’d left behind both a new boyfriend and an old boyfriend. I missed the United States. I missed hearing my own language.

Another thing about Thanksgiving was that it wasn’t particularly big in my family. My mother as she frequently told us had not grown up in this country and only did Thanksgiving for “us kids”. She didn’t like to cook. She definitely did not like turkey. We had had several disastrous Thanksgiving so over the years. One year my father had gotten a turkey at work. It was the tradition at that time to give workers a turkey at Thanksgiving. It was huge, 22 pounds. There were only five of us. The Levittown stove is very small. In fact, if I remember correctly, it was a custom built. The only place you could buy it was at Jay’s Appliances on Hempstead Turnpike. Anyhow, the turkey was too big for the oven and broke the element. Another year, my brother was going to make biscuits. He was in one of the first classes of boys to take home Ec. He broke it that year. Another infamous year, we traveled to my great aunt’s in New York City. She lived in Peter Cooper village. Aunt Dorothy always said that she had a view of the river. You had to stand in her kitchen and peer through a tiny window to maybe catch a glimpse of water. I always lied and said I could see it although I never could. My father cursed the whole way on the Parkway. He didn’t like to drive in the best of times. Of course, there was tremendous traffic that was going to make us be late. My father was always manic about being on time or early. You could never tell him that you had a party starting at 8:00 PM because at 7:30, he would start telling you that you were going to be late. He didn’t understand that of course, you needed to be late. Anyway, we finally arrived at Dorothy’s. Now, she was supposed to be wealthy. Her sister, Matilda was also supposed to be wealthy. They competed. Aunt Dorothy was having all the cousins as well. We often did not get to see each other. One set of cousins were orthodox Jews. The males would never come to our house as it was considered unclean.    I glimpsed them so rarely that I could never tell you what they looked like.

It wasn’t a particularly large apartment nor was it small. I remember the dining table being set up as a buffet and scattered card tables around the room. My mother and grandmother were horrified as Aunt Dorothy had had it catered. I was impressed because the turkey had been pre sliced and put back together. It was also the first time that I tasted barley and I really liked it. The catering was not what upset my mother and grandmother nor the fact that the card tables were covered with paper clothes but it was the paper plates that really set them off. My grandmother and later on, I had a dish fetish. We can also be fairly formal people. My stepsons laugh at me because I always tell them, “the right tool for the job.” There is also the right dish for the meal. It wasn’t even the heavy duty paper plates but the cheap ones. There probably was real silverware. My mother was particularly incensed because Dorothy had a “girl” a few times a week. Dorothy would not even have to cope with the dishes. We never did that again and I am not sure if Dorothy ever did it again.

The caterer Thanksgiving debacle made an enormous impression on me. I was precocious junior high student. It annoyed me and still does that for most people Thanksgiving is it day of gluttony. I found it highly hypocritic. Growing up in my household, if you had anything to say you wrote it down. My father was famous for his letters to the editor. My parents did not protest. My father wrote letters. Therefore, I wrote a letter to the editor of the local paper expressing my thoughts on Thanksgiving. I was harassed at school and told I was a communist.

I hate to fly. One year, I traveled 20 weeks out of the year.  I used to be teased that if there was a train that went across the Atlantic, it would be my preferred method of travel. So, once I arrived in Europe, I always took the train in between countries and cities. I like to travel in between countries at night. It saved a hotel bill and was easier on me. I’ve always been able to dine on my own but this put less stress on me. It was a great opportunity to relax and catch up on some of my magazines. I would leave my magazines behind in hotel rooms and on the trains. I hoped that they would end up in hands that would appreciate them. I was on the train in Italy heading to France. Italy was never enjoyable for me. I found the people arrogant and it was expensive. I was glad to be leaving. I was reading Better homes and Garden on the train. This was one of the ones that I was reading just for me. It was outside my comfort zone. I am not known for decorating and at that time in my life did not have ready access to a garden. There was a Thanksgiving meal by Lee Bailey. It spoke to me. The weather had been unusually cold and damp. I could taste the recipes in my head. I tore them out and put them in my luggage.

I arrived home and announced my intention of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. My mother was very pleased. In addition, to it not being her holiday, my mother did not like to cook. She had grown up with a cook and when she met my father, she knew how to boil an egg and make a cup of tea. It gave her no pleasure. She had dutifully made Toll House chocolate chip cookies with me once because that’s what you did with little girls. However, she had encouraged me. This she had done despite several disasters. As Campfire Girls, we made a four layer cake in two layer pans and set the oven on fire. She took this rather calmly. I made gingerbread cookies in 7th grade that were really gingerbread men. They were enormous! My first sugar cookies broke my grandmother’s tooth. My best friend and I made the most disgusting chicken with apples for French class. I do not know how they let us serve it. Well, we are all alive today and we’re not poisoned miraculously. By this time, I was quite an accomplished cook. I’d been given all kinds of cooking magazines. My mother worked for Standard Brands and her boss used to send me recipes from their test kitchen. I had graduated into making cookies. I used to make around 1000 for Christmas giving. It had started when I was 14 and slowly morphed since then. I usually started what I termed “cookie production” on Thanksgiving weekend. This would definitely eat into my time.

I started the preparations. Now it is referred to has brining, then it was just marinating. The turkey is marinated in a mix of soy sauce, honey and white wine for 24 hours before. Cooking. This requires defrosting the turkey so that it can be marinated on Wednesday. I had to leave it out on the kitchen counter. There is a beautiful stuffing that is cooked separately from the turkey. This allows the turkey to be moist. It requires making a cornbread beforehand. There is a lot of chopping and preparation for the stuffing. The first year I also made Angel biscuits. My father and brother were finicky eaters so yams with marshmallows had never appealed to them. My mother and I were not fond of it either. I made simple baked sweet potatoes that year and mashed potatoes. We did the usual store bought pies. I cooked my guts out.

New York, especially in the 80s was very temperate. It almost never snowed, especially not in November. That particular Thanksgiving morning, there was unexpected snow. It had hit the whole East Coast. I lived just under 6 miles away from my parents. They lived on a main road. We had always laughed because we never knew how bad the weather was. A town Councilman lived a few blocks behind us so our street was always beautifully plowed. However, the way to my house was on main roads. I lived a few blocks off of Sunrise Highway so that too was plowed. My father always had a fear of driving and of snow. He announced that morning that he would not be coming. My mother read him the riot act and they showed up. The whole meal met with raves. From that day forward, Thanksgiving was my responsibility in addition to cookie production.

This went well for several years. Then I made the mistake of getting married. We rented a beautiful cottage. I even had double ovens! My parents and brother came over but my mother did not want to leave the cat at home by itself. We didn’t think it would be a problem has the cat loved turkey. In the years before I started making it, the cat would lie down in front of the stove for the entire cooking time. Plus, the cat truly loved me. Lo and behold, the cat was having no part of being at my house. We had a beautiful fireplace and the cat tried to climb up the chimney. My parents left with doggy bags.

The marriage did not last through the rest of the following year. However, I was still there for Thanksgiving. I cooked the turkey at my house and brought everything over to my parents. I moved back into my parents’ home shortly before Christmas. My mother complained about the smell of butter and sugar in the house as I still had to do cookie production.

The following year, I had to make the turkey at their house. Now, as I said before, my father was a very picky and finicky either. He had always maintained that he did not like soy sauce. If we went to a Chinese restaurant, he would only order pepper steak and never ever put soy sauce on anything. He didn’t like garlic either or so he thought. We would put garlic in things unbeknownst to him. The turkey marinade had cloves of garlic. I was the first in the family to use them. My mother used to season somethings with garlic powder. I actually used cloves. We knew if he found out what was in the turkey, he would not eat it. He would claim something smelled funny. We held our breath and I made the marinated night while he was watching TV. My mother complained about the smell of turkey in her house. It was much the same as it was with the cookies. She loved the results but didn’t want to deal with the operation aspects.

Unfortunately, I had to live there for several years before I moved out. I moved in with someone they did not approve of. They would not allow him in the house. I catered. They wouldn’t allow him in the house for Christmas either. It began to create a huge rift for us.

Miracle of miracles. One year, they finally let him come for Thanksgiving. As usual, I brought everything over. He and my father seemed to have a good time. My brother was excited thinking that everything was behind us and we could have a normal holiday season. This was not to be. They were even more adamant that he could not come to our home. So, that year my brother went out of state and I did not go over. It created great pain.

Now I am married to an active alcoholic. Thanksgiving rarely happens on Thanksgiving Day. And there are only the two of us. Today, it looks like it will happen. It is bittersweet. the ghost of Thanksgiving Day pass will definitely be at the table. There are so many things that I am grateful for. I’m grateful for the knowledge and insight I have gained over the last year. I am grateful for friends old and new. As always, I am grateful to be warm, safe and dry and have something to eat. It is not about the meal nor the memories but rather profound gratitude.