What changes, and doesn’t, in pandemic-time holiday
There was the year, I was 9 or 10, when my mother was so mad at my father for having to work on Thanksgiving Day that she gave up on cooking a turkey and fed us kids hot dogs.
Well, that was disappointing. But probably the reason I remember this many years later is because of the humiliation that followed. Monday morning in school, the teacher went around the room asking students to tell of their Thanksgiving meal. I hope whoever keeps tally of fibs forgives me for standing up and reciting: a huge turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin and apple pies.
That year Thanksgiving was about food.
Four years ago, my husband Jim and I were excited to host our first Thanksgiving in our “new” house in Bethel. Extended family was coming from around the state, Brooklyn and Manhattan. We moved living room furniture to put up three folding tables and chairs for 18. I found pretty red and gold leaves outdoors and sealed them in plastic to place around the tables. Got the biggest turkey I could find.
As usual, I took the day before the holiday off from work to cook and bake so all would be ready. And it was so, the next day as the aroma of roasting turkey warmed the house. And then — an hour before travelers were to arrive — the stove broke. Argghhh! What to do?
Family saved the day. Our daughter Barb who lives about three miles away offered to shift everything to her home. She finished cooking the turkey, and grandson Scotty helped pack and moved the appetizers, sides and desserts to the car driven by his recently licensed brother Tyler. Tables hastily went up, travelers diverted to the new destination. We had a memorable time.
That year, and so many others, Thanksgiving was about family.
This year — this year — is like none other in our lives.
The pandemic and its roil of sickness and death is keeping extended families apart. But conversely, maybe it compels us to appreciate each other all the more.
Wanting to keep some tradition, while being safe, we planned to gather at Barb’s and her husband Scott’s house for hors d’oeuvres (known in our family as dervies). No wild car rides with a half-baked turkey. But we could sit sheltered outside enjoying baked brie in puff pastry (a holiday staple) and one another’s company for an hour. That’s what we planned. But — not even 24 hours earlier, the brother of a grandson’s girlfriend’s best friend tested positive. Too close, too risky, we agreed. No dervies together this time.
Each year we go around the table and say what we are thankful for. On Thursday afternoon, back in our home, that wouldn’t take long — three adults and a 2-year-old in a high chair. That little guy, Gabriel Jackson Flinn, doesn’t understand the concept of Thanksgiving, nor would he care whether a turkey or hot dogs appeared on his plate. But right up there in what I am most grateful for is that powerhouse of personality who calls me Mimi and has enriched our lives immeasurably with his presence.
This long pandemic has taught me to nurture more gratitude in my life. The every day busyness before mid-March obscured the not-so-little things that give meaning.
I am grateful that my husband makes breakfast for me every weekday morning. (My turn on weekends.) That we have a warm shelter and food in the cupboard. That we can go for walks to get fresh air, or sit in the backyard watching birds and squirrels.
I am grateful to see the results of my colleagues working hard to deliver the news throughout the day, despite the many obstacles. (It used to be said that newspapers are daily miracles; now they are minute-by-minute miracles. Never take them for granted.) Grateful for the dialogue with you, readers, on issues that inflame or inspire.
And to widen that scope, like a camera lens with a satellite view, I am grateful for this country in which we live where we can speak freely, even while we might disagree mightily. Where we can work to improve society for the betterment of all, not just a few.
I’ve seen a suggestion that instead of bemoaning how the pandemic has changed so much, we could preserve what it’s like living now by making a time capsule. Put in anything that documents our times, such as newspaper clippings, a letter you write to yourself, photos of kids remote learning or cats sauntering across the computer — you get the idea. Seal the box or jar, after decorating, write the date, and tuck it away in a closet until the planned opening date
We can live in fear of the unknown, or in appreciation for what we have now, each day. That is our choice.
Early Tuesday, as I laced up my sneakers and Jim got the coffee going, I grumbled that it was a typical November day — gray and raw. Starting on my run/walk around the neighborhood I noted frost on windshields and on roofs. Those homes must
be cozy inside, I thought.
After a while, I didn’t notice the chill. Looking up, the sky wasn’t a socked-in heavy gray after all. Shades of soft pewter, like kitten fur, and purple threads striated the clouds. Glimpses of blue appeared, then hid again. It was all more complex and beautiful than first perceived.