A Home is not a House
November 1997
Where
I once said: "John, round up the kids and get them to the table,"
I now say, "Don't forget, John, you have to round up the kids
and pick them up at the airport."
"How
long is this going to go on, Connie?"
"As
long as any of them wants to come home for Thanksgiving, we will
serve turkey."
"But
this isn't home, they never even lived in this house."
"Nevertheless,
it's home. Their arrival times are on the refrigerator."
We turned to stare at flight information held to the door with
clothespin magnets once made by one of them.
"Tom
and Melanie are driving in from St. Petersburg Tuesday."
"Can't
they pick up Wendy and Melinda at the airport? They pass right
by."
"No,
there won't be room. Tom has golf clubs in the trunk and a guest
is with them. Wendy and Melinda. have their clubs and....."
"Their
clubs? They're bringing their clubs? Okay, okay, I get the picture.
But, I run late Tuesdays. They'll have to wait."
"Oh,
I hate to ask them."
"Then,
you go. I'll do the shopping. One way to get a rutabaga."
"Yeah,
but will I get the right boiled onions? I don't want cocktail
onions like last year. And don't forget the okra for Melanie."
(Melanie, Tom's wife, grew up in the South where Thanksgiving
dinner is not complete without cornbread and okra.) My kids are
not big on vegetables. They choose the one they will definitely
eat, I buy their choices in eight or ten Green Giant Boil-in-a
Bag packs, toss them into a cauldron of boiling water and everybody's
happy. (Look, if the Pilgrims could boil in a bag, they wouldn't
bake yams either. How much can fit in an oven with a twenty-two-pound
turkey?) That worked fine, until we started extending the family.
I don't know what fresh okra looks like. So, I just open a can,
add butter, microwave and hope for the best. Thanks to Maggie,
we now name the turkey. "My other Gramma says we have to." Last
year we ate a bird named Sylvester.
"What
are they gonna wanna drink.?" John's Bronx accent creeps into
print.
"Beer,
although Wendy and Melinda don't drink, unless you get O'Doul's
for them and a few cases of Bud for the others. Tom and Jim will
probably bring some. Bill won't be here, so..."
"Where's
Bill gonna be? Workin'?"
"No,
no. He has off for a change but he and Lisa and the kids are going
on the Big Red Boat for a family cruise to the Bahamas."
"A
cruise? I'd like to take a cruise on Thanksgiving or go to the
Macy's Parade."
"Well,
you can't, because here is where your tradition is and there is
where they are starting theirs."
"Good
for them. Why didn't you tell me thirty years ago I had an option?"
"You
didn't ask. Anyway, about the beer..."
"Don't
worry, I'll get enough. I'm more concerned about keeping it cold.
By the way, there's snow home in Pittsburgh today. I could use
that back porch for chillin' the beer."
"This
is home, John. Adjust!"
"Yeah,
yer right."
"Oh,
and come to think of it, Nancy, Jim and the kids arrive about
two a.m. so leave the door unlocked. And keep the dog in the garage.
She's big. She scares Jake."
"Do
we have to keep Bo Peep in the garage for six days? They grew
up with big dogs.?"
"Our
kids and the dogs were used to each other. Bo Peep is a hairy
monster to these little ones."
"Jeez.
I'm just gonna go out and burn the bridge."
"Oh,
you know you love it. Just have those Thanksgiving Tee Times all
set. And clubs for anyone who doesn't bring their own, and, as
for me, I'm drinking champagne. I'm entitled!"
"Yeah.
Yeah. When's it gonna be pay back time?"
"For
what?"
"For
bringing them into the world."
"Hey,
I thought that was your pleasure."
And so it goes, every year. It may not be "Over the river and
through the woods," but, traveling in from Arizona, Virginia,
Florida, Georgia, Pittsburgh and Indiana is still a trip.
They'll arrive with babies, portacribs, potties, diapers, videos,
toys, tennis racquets and rollerblades. Then, at four o'clock
on Thanksgiving Day, somehow, miraculously, a turkey will take
center stage. We'll stand at our places and pause, John sharpening
the carving knife, and I looking for whatever is not there. When
I'm satisfied that nothing is not there, we'll hold hands and
say grace. It's what you do at this moment, yet we say it by rote,
almost embarrassed to express our gratitude in front of others.
"Bless us Oh, Lord....."
John begins to carve, enjoying every moment of it. I am light-hearted
as I pass a platter and say: "No food police today. No one counts
the calories in mashed potatoes, nor fat grams in gravy. No one
sneers at anyone's veggie choice, and," I laugh, "no hand reaches
for my creamed onions or Daddy's rutabaga."
"Oh,
Mom, hold me back. My favorites."
"I'll
bet," I snicker toward Kerry, enjoying the laugh with Jorie.
We settle down and I ask Wendy if she will start our thanks-go-round,
a tradition where each one talks while the others eat and listen.
She smiles and starts, but not before half turning to Melinda
and squeezing her hand. Their endearling look is one of pride,
contentment. I gaze, half listening, from Wendy to Melinda and
can see what she meant last year.
She said at that time, "It's not a matter of choice, Mom, it's
a matter who I am. This is not a problem, it's merely a fact.
I am happy to be who I am. And, Mom, I have pride in who I am."
I come out of my reverie, she finishes her thanks laughing over
her winning golf score and the others chorus, "wait'll tomorrow."
Tom begins with thanks for Melanie and finishes with tears of
love for us all. Then, we, too, cry and laugh -- laugh because
we cry with nothing to cry about, cry because we have so much
to laugh about.
Jim, Nancy's husband, follows Tom, and gets to the heart of it:
"We have a lot to be thankful for, but, most of all, for each
other."
I listen to them and look around the table in awe. I, who dominated
their lives for their first two decades, creating little images
of John and me, am learning something: Everyone is talented in
ways we are not; everyone is original, and, everyone has something
important to say.
Thanksgiving is the day we gather to say it.
"By
the way, Connie," John says, shopping list in hand, "you mentioned
Tom and Melanie are bringing a guest. What will she drink? And,
what goes? Is she away from her family, or something? I mean,
why is she coming?"
"She'll
probably drink beer or wine and, yes, I believe she is far from
her family. But, darling, you know Tom, always planning ahead.
He knows the Daleys will never squabble if there's a guest at
the table."
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