Thanksgiving is a complicated little holiday for me. It’s been good, it’s been awful, sometimes I have ridden home crying and asking why I have the family that I do. Mom cooked for many years and then when she became awfully tired of doing it we began to share the day. Now I do it all myself. I remember:

The Thanksgiving when I was 16 and went to dinner at my boyfriend’s house. My folks were stunned and hurt.

The Thanksgivings that Dad and my brothers barely said a civil word to each other.

The Thanksgivings when the “football” game would compete with dinner.

The cold mashed potatoes at almost every Mom-prepared Thanksgiving.

Wondering what mood brother, Dan, would present this year.

The year brother, Stanley, brought homemade biscuits, carried in his drum.

The Thanksgiving in Tracyton when Mom invited two Argentinian young men to our meal.

The Thanksgiving I rebelled against the idea of doing all the cooking myself and decided to buy dinner pre-made from the store. The gravy was gray and too salty, the string bean casserole was overcooked, the pie was…..store bought.

The Thanksgivings my Dad choked up over the personal prayer he said before the meal.

The first Thanksgiving dinner I prepared as a young married woman.

The years when we wouldn’t let Dad say a real prayer and we all just said “grace”.

The pressure as a kid to find something “to be thankful for” because we would be asked.

The first Thanksgiving after my Dad died. Brother, Dan, did all the puns and told obvious jokes Dad would have told, in his honor.

The Thanksgiving when Stanley started coughing after dinner and fainted.

The Thanksgiving in Ventura, CA. It was just not right for it to be so sunny and warm!

The tiny Thanksgivings we have had since my brother, Dan, died in 2003.

The delicious birds, dressings, salads, pies I’ve gobbled over the years.

The extremely full feeling that I have just before I decide there’s just a little bit of room left for pumpkin pie with whipped cream.

And all the wonderful turkey sandwiches with, cranberry sauce, mayonnaise and lettuce!

Thanksgivings are quieter now. The two volatile members of the family are gone and it’s just we 4 left. We eat the fabulous dinner that took all day to make in ten minutes, quickly savoring the moist turkey and the gravy on the dressing and mashed potatoes. We tease Mom because she doesn’t finish her salad or her peas. We play games or watch a cute movie after dinner and then we eat that pie. I have come to terms with cooking the dinner by myself and find myself enjoying the entire day now. I even let Mom say grace over the food we are about to partake. And I am always thankful for something.