Thanksgiving Thoughts

Thanksgiving is my favorite time of year - that whole sweet buffer of time in, around, and after actual Thanksgiving Day.  For me, it's a time of reflection and mental "sorting out".  This photograph, labeled in my dear mother's beautiful handwriting (she's standing in the back in the white shirt, next to her sister), is representative of where my heart goes and my mind follows this time of year...  my childhood home on Sanford Street in Muskegon, Michigan where, for a few years that I thought would last forever, our family would gather on Thanksgiving Day.

My sisters, mom and I were up early tearing bread for stuffing, checking to make sure the bird was thawed (one year it wasn't), and putting the finishing touches on pies and jello salads (this was the Midwest, after all!).  We'd wait excitedly for the arrival of our grandparents, aunt and uncle, and our rowdy boy cousins who provided balance, fun, and sometimes torment in our mostly female family. All of us, I know, loved each other in that easy, familial way that allows us to take each other for granted without repercussion. And though we rarely see each other these days, we are all fully present in each others minds and hearts. 

They never stayed long - just the day - but it fostered in me the importance of gathering.  "We gather together" is a phrase of great significance. At holiday times, and any time, it is a source of strength and encouragement to gather with family, and "family of choice" whenever we can.  It keeps our hearts open and warm.  Helps us practice our Tolerance and Acceptance skills.  Helps us remain Human in easy and uneasy circumstances.

So - Happy Thanksgiving, everyone...  say hello to your neighbor.  Give a nod to that person sitting next to you on the bus or subway.  Gather someone in to your home this Thursday.

A windfall gift of apples from a friend becomes another gift - spicy apple butter

Thoughts about Time

Harvey and Wilma

Harvey and Wilma were born in 1890. They married when Harvey was released from serving in WWI as a supply train supervisor (mule division), and started having children at the start of The Great Depression when they were around 40 years old.  They are pictured here in 1952 at the age of 62 in the backyard of their home in South Bend, Indiana.  The home that my mind still travels to so frequently...  the repository of so many memories...  the embodiment of love.  Flashes of an orange painted basement floor upon which sat the old Maytag washer replete with wringer; a brick of yellow cheddar on the kitchen counter with a sleeve of saltines beside it always ready to stave off hunger; the wide front porch we kids played endless games on during the day and slept on when nights were hot and muggy - when we weren't catching fireflies. 

Harvey and Wilma were my grandparents and my heroes.  They still are.  Dignified and classy, they also knew how to make a child feel loved and appreciated.  They accepted me, my sisters, and cousins  "as is" and of all the homes I lived in growing up, it was their home that I thought of as Home.

I always thought of my grandparents as Old.  Throughout my life with them, they had gray hair, unglamorous figures, and inelegant clothing (with the exception of Grandpa's fedora and overcoat).  I found myself wondering just how old they really were.  Sorting through some old photos (I've been doing that a lot lately), I found this one with a clear date on the back written in a strong hand.  I was surprised when I did the math and realized they were only 62 in this picture.  Perhaps it's because I live in an affluent resort town where people ski, run, hike, and swim until they are in their 80's or just can't do it anymore.  But I do not know any 62 year old  (and many of my friends are approaching this age or have surpassed it) that looks like my grandparents do in this photo.

I offer no conclusion, but do offer a few observations:  My grandparents did not work out nor were they athletic in any way.  Their clothing was of the time and, never wealthy, they wore the same clothes for years.  They did not dye their hair, hide, disguise, or alter their aging bodies in any way.  Grandpa worked for Studebaker until he could retire with a gold watch and a pension.  His company did not fire him right before retirement or try to get out of paying him for his long years of service.  Of simple means, they had a garden in the summer, read books (Rex Stout and Zane Grey for Grandpa, crossword puzzles for Grandma), and listened to ball games.  There was a lot of conversation and many family meals together.  They lived until they were in their mid-eighties and their looks never changed.   

Quail Tracks

In this complicated time of burgeoning uncertainty, I look to my grandparents once again for direction and guidance.

Mountain Quail

In my yard today:

Crabapple Tree Today

In my town today:

Ponderosa Pine Log

Don't squander your energies on anything you are lukewarm about.  Passion adds power and strength - Jean Ray Laury