Over the river and through the woods
To Grandmother’s house we go.
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
Through white and drifted snow . . .
— Lydia Maria Childs,1844
Uh-oh. My mind tells me that we celebrated Thanksgiving just a couple of months ago, but the calendar says it’s almost here again, and I’m out of fresh ideas. I know, I’ll use something from a past essay. Surely no one will remember what I wrote in 2001.
I always wanted to take a sleigh ride, but never have. Beyond evoking the past of my grandparent’s generation, “Over the River” brings memories of when we sang it at school and when Bill and I sang it with Vicki. Like July 4, Thanksgiving is a quintessential American time, a part of the very fabric of our common experience. Our shared memories of it are as predictable and comforting as the turkey, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie!
The very repetition of special days brings comfort and structure to our lives. I know what many people will be like all over America. My family’s menu is set in concrete; we do not tamper with holiday food. In our freezer are two big turkeys — one for Thanksgiving, the other for Christmas.
A few years ago, friend Jean had a turkey experience that infuriated her. When she took the turkey out of the fridge on Thanksgiving morning she discovered that it hadn’t thawed. “It was so hard I could have thrown it down a bowling alley like a bowling ball! Helpful hint: They say in COOKS magazine that it takes one day per each four pounds of a frozen turkey to thaw it in the fridge.
Here’s another story: During the summer I wrote about the ugly, plastic turkey platter that Vicki’s next door neighbor gave Bill during a garage sale. Later, Bill had a garage sale, but no one would buy the thing for a quarter. Harry, a member of Irvington Methodist Church, was amused by my story about the platter and sent Bill home with one that he bought for me at a rummage sale. Once, it had been a fine, heavy china platter. Now it appears that one end of it had been singed in a fire. We gave it to Vicki to palm off on the owners of the original platter who run a garage sale every weekend. I can hardly wait to get even with Harry by presenting him with the plastic platter that Bill kept after his sale.
Like Christmas, Thanksgiving is a many-layered combination of the past, the present and anticipation of the future for me. After saying grace, my mother always said, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if everybody in the whole world could have a meal like this?” Bill has started storing up groceries, Vicki and we are planning the details of the feast for ten of us that will be at our house.
Back to the past: I wrote these words right after that infamous day, 9/11: I can see in my mind’s eye millions of Americans of many backgrounds, gathered around their tables. I am sure that this year’s Thanksgiving celebration will be the most heart-felt outpouring of gratitude and concern for America that we have seen in many a year. In many homes surely someone will propose a toast: “To The United States of America!”
Today some people sneer the word “America” with a scornful tone. They see only its flaws. Those flaws are real, and we need to come together, achieve consensus, and seat more people at the banquet table of capitalism that has given us such a high standard of living. However, when I consider the multitude fleeing to Europe to escape the destruction taking place in some countries, the lack of freedom, medical care, education, adequate nutrition and clean water, plus the subjugation of females I am filled with gratitude for this land. The events of 9/11 taught me to celebrate Thanksgiving in my heart every single day. wclarke@comcast.net