Sushi and Paper Pilgrims

I was just thinking...trying to come up with some Thanksgiving memories. I don't have many memories of packed tables full of relatives and friends...I think there were a few times when my family made the 9 hour car trip from our home in Hackensack NJ to Meadville PA (FAR western PA) to tables of cousins and aunts and uncles: tables of adult grudges and hurt feelings; tables full of my oblivion to that fact...only cognizant of cousins I hadn't seen in a long time...the initial hide-behind-Mom's-skirts shyness which was soon replaced by noisy games of tag and childish excitement. Hungry hand-slapped sneakings of the food that we insisted must be pre-tested /and approved before we would consent to eat it. I cast shy glances at my disabled uncle (who had RA) in his chair in the corner of the room where I was sure he slept and ate as well, having never in all my years, seen him in any other spot but that. His ever present smile belying the twisted and swollen state of his hands and the pain that I can now sympathize with and which I now know he experienced but never showed or discussed.

The scent of my grandma's home made rolls came wafting from the kitchen inviting the begging for and prohibition of advance inspection of her wares. Placing dishes of the same grandmas neon colored bread and butter pickles on the table...and being permitted only small, pieces of her homemade hard candy, all of which tasted like anisette and licorice despite their bright colors, to hold us until the preparations were all complete and we gathered, noisy and wiggling to the table ...jumping in our excitement...and totally disregarding all of the undercurrents of the adult feuds and fractured loyalties.

There were a few Thanksgivings like that...But more frequently, there were the quiet kind, celebrated by my parents, my younger brother and myself. On these days, my parents would go to church, while my brother and I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on television and carried out our private tradition of making the centerpiece for the table. These consisted of -things like construction paper pilgrims or turkeys with fan-like folded tails which we proudly perched amidst the good china...the china which only came out of its hiding place in the china cabinet once or twice a year.

When my parents arrived back from church, soon delicious smells began to waft from the kitchen...where entrance was firmly denied until my mother got control of the preparations and things were ready to be carried to the table in the dining room...I don't recall much else about those holidays at home..except for the one, when my mom took the turkey from the oven and sat it on the counter for a few minutes to cool so that she could carve it....and while our backs were turned, our cat climbed up and had himself a nice Thanksgiving meal! Yes, we still ate that pre-sampled bird...just not the parts that had been already gnawed!

Now, my Thanksgivings are much different. Much sadder if you ask me...We have a tradition (about 3 years old, this tradition) that is so absurd that whenever I confess it to anyone, it prompts a good belly laugh from the listener. You see, WE (my husband, daughter and myself) go out for a sushi dinner. We are invariably the only customers in the restaurant each year...((I wonder why??)) and then out to a movie following dinner. Why??? Well, since my mom became unable to prepare the feast, and it is difficult for me to do so (in fact, there have been years that I've spent in the hospital for Thanksgiving), we have gravitated toward this absurd practice. As for me, I would SO much rather go to a friend's house to celebrate, it's not like we've never been asked,...but my husband is not terribly social (to be polite) ...and would not consent to this...I miss the noisy familial gatherings. The home cooked meal and the friendly camaraderie that should be part of this day are sadly absent in our quiet celebration. So, for a few years, I've attempted to rescue the day by cooking a Thanksgiving type of meal on the Sunday following the actual holiday. This year I have quite an elaborate menu planned and only am praying for the strength to pull it off. I know I will get no assistance so it will be a painful marathon, but I do it mostly for myself...to assuage the disappointment of the empty holiday that really should be so pregnant with meaning. And I hope that someday, when my daughter celebrates the holiday in whatever manner she should choose, that she will remember my attempts to restore some of the tradition to a holiday rendered bizarre by the preferences of my family. But nonetheless, I try to be grateful for the presence of the three of us at that meal and to enjoy their company during our unconventional celebration and to be thankful for each of them during these times we share together in our unorthodox method of acknowledging the day. And I am always thankful for the years when I am healthy enough to even participate in the celebration of the holiday.

So this week as you gobble your turkey...think of us, in that deserted Japanese restaurant with our plates of sushi....and try not to laugh.