A book I never knew existed, illustrated by a favorite artist... no one else out there like Stephen Gammell. Thanks for the heads up on this, Wren! Currently on my bookshelf next to my copy of Halloween Poems. Gammell is a magician, making things mysterious and beautiful. And the colors are perfection.
The artwork really captures that feeling from the landscape in late November in these parts. And that brought back some memories. Thanksgivings from my youth were initially spent at my grandparents' tiny brick home in an urban block of the city. We'd show up early and the day always seemed to be sunny, breezy, and cold. It always felt like a holiday - different than a normal day. Halloween was a month behind us, and Christmas was coming. The Gimbles parade was on their TV, and we waited for Santa to arrive at noon (the official start of the Christmas Season, you know).
And the house smelled amazing. My grandmother was an exquisite cook and everything she made felt like we were in on some wonderful culinary secret. Cooking and hosting duties eventually were turned over to my mother. An assignment that no one was pleased with, including (and especially with) my mother. My mother would be a great cook at a penitentiary. Growing up, we were served the same particular meal on the same day of each week (e.g. Thursdays were chicken soup, Fridays were fish sticks). Every. Single. Week.
The turkey seemed to be my mother's nemesis. She battled with that thing for an entire day. And you'd think the oven broke or the turkey refused to thaw, as we always ended up watching her check and poke and essentially ruin the classic shape of a turkey as we all braced for some form of salmonella (though that part never happened). I recall the first time I cooked a turkey on my own. I was filled with anxiety and fear. But it turns out when you follow cooking instructions, a beautiful turkey can be made. I'm wondering if my mother was trying to get someone else to volunteer for cooking duties... playing the long game for sure (no one ever did).
So you look back on holidays from the past and you realize magic was there and it was a finite resource, all around you. But you didn't realize that at the time. As I get older, I find myself wishing I would have complimented my grandmother's meals more. Or stayed longer. Or visited more often. I'm hoping she knew we were all excited to be a part of her talents and her generosity. I'm certain she could tell (I'm hoping she could tell).
Anyways, going into this Thanksgiving, I'm feeling a mountain of gratitude. For those memories. For the good stuff. Grateful for the people in my life. Extremely grateful to be able to spend a peaceful Thanksgiving with music, a nice fire going, and plenty of wine and great food.
Wishing everyone a wonderful Thanksgiving. Thanks so much for following this blog and my Instagram account. All the emails, nice comments, and all the "likes" and follows mean the world to me.
Happy Thanksgiving!
