Traditions at Thanksgiving

Traditions at Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is all about traditions. I’ve cooked essentially the same meal since 1988. It has been through 2 marriages, one partnership and all the in between times.

Time is a definite factor in this story.

I was traveling for business in Italy early November that year. It was not my first time traveling alone, I was in my 30s and had been traveling alone since my 20s. In fact, the very first time I traveled by myself I was only 17 and it was for a university visit. I traveled to Europe, Taiwan and South America for business by myself before this trip. The excitement was over. It was no longer a novelty nor a nod to my corporate capabilities. I remember feeling blue and out of sorts.

Those days were different. There were no cell phones or Internet. Faxing was expensive and cumbersome. There was a certain freedom to that travel because you could be truly away and no one could reach you. There might be messages for you at a vendor sometimes at the hotel but that was unusual. I was researching vendors on this trip, so I was remote. The main purpose of the trip was to attend the leather good exposition in Milan. However, the show was only a few days and the president of the company was cheap plus he believed in enriching his employees. For example, he gave me and his secretary the afternoon off when he found out we had never been to the South St. seaport. Another employee had a wife who worked at the special events department of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and he pressured him so that the secretary and I could go on company time to private viewing as a Van Gogh exhibition. He believed in us and wanted us to see the potential in the world. Therefore, I was going to be required to travel through Italy for the remainder of the week. I was to go to Florence, Venice and Rome. Travel was to be done by train.

I traveled with magazines. It was important that I know what was going on in the world, specifically anything that related to fashion. I subscribed and read 22 magazines. These would come to my parents’ house because it would have sent up a red flag on my illegal rental. They insisted that I give the mailman a huge tip every year because of the volume and weight of the paper. I read all kinds of magazines-women’s fashion, men’s fashion, beauty magazines, home decor, business magazines. It always amazed the men that I worked with that I could discuss business issues. I traveled light. In my early years, my mother had despaired because I traveled like a typical Jamaican-lots of bags, parcels tied up with bits of string. She kept at it until I could travel with the minimum amount of fuss and luggage. It also helps that I understood clothing. In later years when I did not have a responsibility for fashion I could travel for a week or two with just the carry-on barrel bag or if the company provided business class, the barrel bag plus a garment bag. However back in the day I will travel with lots of magazines. They would keep me company in the hotel at night because of course there was no Internet or streaming and it got wearing to listen to programs not in English. I was blessed that I could understand a little bit of other languages. Sometimes I just let the sound keep me company and roll over me. On a much later trip, I was thrilled to hear the voice of Harry Belafonte in Italy. I would only catch snippets of his voice before they cut to the translation, but it was still comforting to hear the sounds that I knew in a foreign place.

I would shed the magazines as I traveled. If there was a fashion reference, I needed for work I would shove it into a folder then ditch the rest of the magazine. I used to imagine the hotel maids enjoying what I had left behind. I was traveling probably between Milan and Florence or Florence and Venice when I came upon a recipe for a Thanksgiving menu in Better Homes and Gardens. It was one of the magazines that I used to understand trends. Clothing is not just clothing, it’s what also surrounds us. Also, it was always a joke, but it started at that time that I used to lose weight in Italy. I was used to dining alone and did so in New York and very comfortably in Paris but somehow it didn’t feel right Italy. I ate in sandwich shops. Particularly on this first trip, it had taken me some time to figure out how to order the food and I had a few rather hungry days. Food was definitely on my mind. Better Homes and Gardens not only had decor but also recipes. I looked at that menu and I could just imagine it. I ripped out the article with recipes and carried it with me until I came home.

My mother was not big on Thanksgiving as she always told us “I did not grow up in this country (she was Jamaican) so I did not have this holiday and I’m doing it strictly for you kids.” My father was the children of immigrants also that had grown up during the depression, so this was not so much in the tradition for him either. My mother had not known how to cook when she married my father and it was something that she did not particularly enjoy. No one really liked to eat turkey but went through the motions every year. I decided that I was going to make Thanksgiving that year and have it at my apartment. She did not argue. I realized I am so much luckier than my friends and now in laws because she readily gave it up.

The turkey recipe was somewhat revolutionary at that time. Now what I do with it is referred to as brining and is quite commonplace but back then it was just a marinade. The bird had to be marinated at least 24 hours in advance in a mixture of soy sauce, honey, white wine and spices. It was also cooked breast side down which makes an awful lot of sense. It was accompanied by angel biscuits (the recipe has since been lost) a gelatin mold starter which was never attempted, sweet potatoes with a sorghum butter and then an apple cornbread stuffing. There was some sort of pumpkin thing for dessert but I did not extend that far. We have made this sweet potato cake for about the past 20 years as our dessert. That was from another magazine but not one that I had to rip out and discard as I traveled.

I lived on Long Island which had moderate winters at that time and definitely not snow in November. Thanksgiving morning dawned with eight inches of snow! Totally unexpected. I lived just 6 miles away, but my father was not going to drive. I was cheerful and my mother threw a fit and they came. The meal was totally enjoyed. The turkey was moist and delicious. Apparently, this is not the case for most Thanksgiving events. The technique  I used were very advanced at that time.  

It was my job from that day forward to make Thanksgiving. I would add in different things over the years like the sweet potato cake. Some years there were appetizers and other years there were not. My first marriage broke up and there was a problem. I had moved home which had its own issues. However, I like to cook and they accepted that from me. My mother used to joke when I still lived at home and was out of work that she could easily gain 5 lbs because of all the food I made. It was going to be easier to do Thanksgiving in one way but not in another. My father was very finicky about his food and had very specific ideas. He claimed to detest garlic, but my mother always made spaghetti sauce with garlic in it which she did not know. Soy sauce was a no no for him. We used to laugh over his limitations because the only thing he would eat in a Chinese restaurant was pepper steak. It probably had soy sauce in it but as long as he didn’t know, it did no harm. My mother was sure that he would find out that the turkey was marinated in soy sauce and then decide that it didn’t taste any good. He never found out but WOULD right marvel each year on how delicious and how moist it was.

Eventually I moved out again-this time to a partner. Since they despised him and would not come over, it was my job to cater. I would cart it up and bring it over. My father never complained about the food, only about the man. That ended when I was back in my own apartment again, able to host again.

I met a new man, married and we continue with the turkey. The stuffing is now his job and he does it superbly. We no longer get a whole bird but rather a bone in breast. It looks disgusting but it’s still moist and delicious.

It’s hard to believe that the menu has stayed with me for so many years and made people happy at Thanksgiving. And I am always transported back to the time in my life with trains, travel and possibilities.

Masquerades, Zumba, Mobility

I have been invited to a Masquerade Black and White Party in honor of my Zumba instructor, Wanda.  I actually had not opened the initial invitation as her birthday is in early April.  Not only did this conflict with my infusion but also I have found it impossible to cross the street where classes are held. This is Saturday and at a hall.  I wrote a Yes, then a No, then Yes; finally sending a No but getting ultimately  overruled.

I started with Zumba and Wanda  years ago.  I had a friend who wanted to take a free Zumba class at the library.  I am thinking 2009 because I already had been diagnosed.  I really went along to humor my friend.  It was held downstairs at the library and I arrived early to describe my problem to the instructor.  No problem at all, she exclaimed.  Do what I wanted and what I could and she’d watch out for me.  I took my shoes off because when I dance that’s what I do.  I had a blast.  When she announced Pata Pata; I was sold.  My healthy friend, by the way, stepped out into the hall halfway through the class, winded.  I just had to rest at the top of the stairs before I put  my flip flops back on.  I couldn’t sign up that Fall when Wanda started offering classes through the Town but I was there in the spring and never stopped till 2 years ago. I am of Caribbean descent and the music played in class is the rhythm of my youth.  They play Belafonte.  In fact, when class initially started, there were quite a few West Indians.

I used to dance at the front of the class without the spectral leg and I’d do the hour or most of it, most days.  And in the winter, the winter when it was frigid, we’d prop the doors wide open and let the cold in, and turn on the fans.  It was always a packed class, 45 people.  The Town thought we were doing so well they put in a mirrored wall which discombobulated us because that’s not how we danced.  We danced facing the middle.  Class was originally supposed to be two nights a week but when Wanda could, she’d offer more.  One spring, I was going four nights a week.   I swear I queered a job interview in another state because I just could not imagine not going to Wanda’s class.

In the summers, Wanda took a break.  We lost our Town space because it was in the pool building.  And after all, it was vacation time.  Wanda would find a place for a class or two.  One year, it was at a beach club.  My condition was beginning to take a stronger grip on me.  I found the shore breezes were buffeting me and I could not continue.  I had always considered myself sturdy before t his.

Returning to the full group in the fall was always joyful.  This class is how I envision the world.  There are all sizes ,ages,  colors and yes, even men.  Deaf mutes; they feel the beat.  It’s a real community.  They have been supportive of me as much as I would let them.  Originally, some thought I was the woman with a stroke.  They have watched my downward slide without comment, which I appreciate.

Which brings us to the masquerade party Saturday evening;  I will be attending solo with the protective shield aka rollator.  I will NOT be wearing Frankie but one of the other spectral legs.  Wanda reached out to me to come.  She said, “You’re one of those who definitely had an impact in my life.”  I HATE, HATE that kind of thing with this.  Once when I couldn’t do what I wanted to, I went outside followed by Wanda’s mother.   I was near tears in fear, frustration and rage.  She told me I was an inspiration to the group,  I was absolutely horrified.  I refuse to have my life considered inspirational.  Here’s the thing, we all have to live the lives we have.  In my case, I have tried ( at least in my mind) to continue to do what I’ve done.  It’s a choice.   I could have decided to throw in the towel.  Either choice is valid.  My choice is my quixotic idea to continue.  Not inspirational.  Inspirational is the man with one hand playing pro ball.

So,  Saturday evening, I will see  women I haven’t seen in a few years.  I dread the “OMG, what happened to you?”  I stopped going to Zumba after a summer’s break.  It had reached the point where I could only manage 1 of the two weekly sessions when I was working.  The class had moved to a larger space.  The downside was parking was across the street.  I started to need help.  Initially, not so much going but coming out and crossing slowly across 4 dimly lit lanes of traffic.  Also, I don’t like to identify as a victim so after dark, help was needed.  It was insidious.  I started to need company to cross.  I had had the security of the wall for some years but now I needed a chair and less endurance.  Then I lost my job and with it not only my income but my walking.  Even going to the gym was not enough.  Here I am in the rollator.

Normally attending a Black and White Masquerade party I would have been levitating. As it was, I was, Yes!  Tom was excited as we both know, I need more physical friends on the ground. And then, and then.  Him: “what if there are stairs?” Me, “What am I going to wear?”  All of this followed by   the reality – could I drive?, could I move? Could I do it on my own?  And me with the pounding thought – what am I going to WEAR??

I love my clothes.  It’s how I view me.  I create the persona.  It’s an expression of my creativity.

I have been to  Black and White parties as well as Masquerades.  I had a magical evening  at Tavern of the Green.  Another time a boyfriend told me it was Black and White casual. DUH NO!  And my husband, totally, unfamiliar thinks it is a race thing! I have tons of all black clothes and black and white clothes.  The problem is my shoes.  All of the above are impossible with Frankie and the clodhopper sneakers.  Last year, I wore a long, black chiffon skirt with pewter, perforated oxfords! UGLY!   It hurt my soul.  My feet burn, despite larger shoes, blah,  blah. I know this is going to drive me Wild.

Masquerades make me nostalgic.  I always have masks.  One wall in my bedroom was masks.  Now, I can find only one.  Drat, there definitely was one with white feathers.  One of  my ex’s daughter had an Halloween wedding, masks required.  The wedding  party was black and white.  The bridezilla was upset that the priest wouldn’t allow her to wear her vampire teeth and the groom left the tiara home.  In addition, the place cards were also masks.  The uncle was given a devil mask.  He heckled the best man’s toast.  One of the guests exclaimed, “It’s just like “Eyes Wide Shut”

I know I have to go.  I cannot ignore  the graciousness of the invitation.  Nor can I not take the chance to miss my community.  I fear it.  I don’t want to deal with the OMG’s, the ugly, hurting shoes.  I won’t be able to dance with  women I used to dance with.  I shall be dependent which I HATE because someone will have to walk me to my car after dinner. And I am worried as I have a tea in the afternoon.  My energy will already be tapped into.  I feel like me when I am seated so it will be challenging to even sit through dinner.  I’ll focus on the accomplishment of being there, fighting back, starting to rise again.

May Warrior Check In

Back for MAY :

How do I feel today – Nice day.  Attended a tea.  I actually did a table.  I was all tizzed about it but think it went well.  However, mixed feelings.  This is my fourth one.  I walked in first time four years ago  in a dress, today with a cane and pants.  But I am walking better than I have due to the drug.

What did you do for yourself today?

See above.  I went to a tea, very girly.  My husband was wonderful and helped set up and breakdown.  There’s a jewelry boutique so I got to shop!  And then went to Odd Job afterwards for this and that.  I didn’t work.  It’s a real break.

What did I eat today and how did it make me feel – BAD.  It was tea!  I did do a smoothy before I went but scones, salmon tea sandwiches, chocolate.  Then Chinese food.  I have been seriously sliding and need to recommit to proper eating.  I need to max the opportunity the Ampyra has given me.

Did I exercise? What did I do? How did it feel – Still not going to the gym or Zumba. But I am walking more.  I will get to gym.  This was the least I have walked all week.

For whom or what are you grateful? What matters most in life?   Grateful for friends and the possibilities of new ones.  Grateful for the people I am meeting through the blog.  Ampyra.  New possibilities.

Do I have a higher purpose or driving force in my life?   Make a mission statement – Higher purpose still not defined.  Beginning to dream again.  Uh, maybe some sort of sharing

How long have I been treated with conventional medicine Ampyra,  two weeks.  And it is working.  I was able to walk longer and stronger.

The first time I had a symptom – June 2004 walking on the beach boardwalk

What symptoms are most troublesome – being off balance and not walking well, wearing ugly shoes and consequently ugly clothes

Do I blame myself for things –  Yes, I am still blaming myself for not being aggressive against this. Still!  And I think always.  It’s funny how we don’t take things seriously

How is stress level? It’s high.  Trying to tone it down.

What can I do tomorrow to make it better than today?   Start over.  It’s a new month. Have a different day.  And yes, I am thinking about things other than disease and death. I am thinking about art and new jobs and possibilities, flowers and spring.

Until next month.

She Gonna Cause the Rafters to Ring- Dolly Dawn

Dolly Dawn – part of my childhood.  I come from a mixed family.  My mother was Jamaican and my dad was from NY and Jewish.  We celebrated everything.  They respected each other and their faiths.  So tonight the kids and I celebrated Passover.  It was one of those weeks.  First night of Passover was Good Friday – not happening.  Saturday they had a Seder with their mother.  Sunday we celebrated Easter.  Monday was out due to Sunday.  Tuesday I had a doctor’s appointment.  Wednesday was their mother’s birthday so here we are tonight.  I came in late as the trains were beyond messed up and just turned on the ipod.  It was West Indian music.

After they left, I cranked the Belafonte. And danced.  Well, it kinda resembled Tom Hanks in Forrest Gump.  But I sang the songs of my childhood and moved. I played calypso. 

Pretty, pretty Dolly.  She gonna dance, she gonna sing, she gonna cause the rafters to ring.  In my family, we danced, especially around holidays.  My dad used to spin me and sit down.  We would limbo.  I felt reconnected tonight. I miss my family.  I miss dancing.  I kinda did it tonight.  It gives me hope – spectral leg and all.

Perhaps Evelyn Brandon, Donald and Elaine Mullins, Garth MoodieFamily and friends – I hear Ska in my mind when I look at this