Thanks Giving

Thanksgiving is a time of reflecting on our lives, acknowledging how far we have come and our extraordinary thankfulness for where we are now.

It is an unusually American Holiday. The tradition is part of the fabric of the telling of the story of the Pilgrims who landed on Plymouth Rock and survived such a terrible winter that half their party died. Those that were still alive, gathered to bow their heads in prayer of supplication for their survival, prepare a celebratory feast and show gratitude for a harvest that would carry them through another harsh winter.

There’s probably a lot of embellishment in that tale, but there is a lot of embellishment in most of our tales, whether they come from the near past or antiquity.

That’s human nature.

What’s also human nature is the spreading of a great tale, the Thanksgiving “story.” A story that started as an aural re-telling turned into a custom. One, that at least once per year we formalize, in a grand way, the acknowledgement and humble gratitude we all should have for surviving yet another year. Certainly we all do this on our individual birthdays, but at Thanksgiving we do this collectively, together as family and friends.

I can never get through giving the Thanksgiving prayer without crying. My children and husband know that and frankly, they expect it. If my children are ever asked “What’s Your Favorite Thanksgiving Memory?” They most likely will say “Mom crying and fanning her face as she gave the prayer.”

These past couple years, the crying seems more voluminous, to the point I can barely say the prayer and am reduced to a whisper. It really is a sad state of affairs and my goal in life is to get through one Thanksgiving in which I don’t cry.

2020 was a rough year for us as a family, as it was for the entire planet.

Yet, here I sit. Pie on the countertop, turkey in the oven, commemorating a great holiday which isn’t about fireworks or marching bands or mounds of presents. It’s a holiday whose sole purpose is symbolized by a meal.

So much of our great literature contains a meal and people eating together. The Bible is full of feasts. Most of our holidays are derived from Roman feasts and festivals.

Diplomacy is accomplished over drinks and dinner. Weddings are topped off with lavish food and drink. It is deep in the human consciousness that eating together is better than eating alone. Sharing a meal can save a family or even tear it apart. That’s how powerful the act of feasting is.

Thanksgiving is also a marker of time. Most of us can remember past Thanksgivings. I am certain all of us remember last Thanksgiving. It was a Thanksgiving that will be seared into our memories, if only for its unusual circumstances that caused trepidation in most of our hearts. To gather or not to gather was on everyone’s mind and no one can deny the loneliness that even a Zoom call couldn’t overcome. To this day I clearly remember that Thanksgiving thirty years ago in which I had twelve people around our table, half of whom for which I didn’t particularly care. Or that Thanksgiving when I was nine in which I ate so much I laid on the couch thinking I could possibly die from overeating.

And this year, I’m thinking about last year when our neighbor’s son lived with us and I let him know that eating Brussels sprouts was not required. He seemed quite “grateful” for that information.

And this year, it is just me and the hubby. But I have no doubt I will still cry when I give the prayer. Because this Thanksgiving is a touch stone, just as it was with the Pilgrims, that we made it through a long, often awful year. But yet we are still grateful for all our many, many, many blessings.