A series of essays....
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| LET’S KEEP THE TURKEYS MARCHING ALONG THIS THANKSGIVING! |
....as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E Hughes
When I look back on my many Thanksgiving memories, I recall the hours my Mother spent chopping cup after cup of celery, carrots, and onions. She would peel mounds of potatoes before cutting and boiling them in a large, heavy pot of salted water. Skill, yes, but endurance, mainly. This all began around four o’clock in the morning when the hour was dark and the rest of us were snuggled deep under our bedsheets and blankets dreaming of the feast to follow.
Interestingly, I still use the same potato peeler that Mom did so many years ago. It continues to work better than any peeler I’ve had since then.
My brothers and I had already named the huge bird the day before while trying to recall his name from last season to avoid repetition. But, somehow, I remember him being called Tom more often than not.
Secretly, I know Mom rather enjoyed the time alone, those special hours before the songbird’s initial chirrup beyond the kitchen window and her family sound asleep above her head. She had time to be alone with her thoughts. There were no immediate distractions interrupting her internal rhythm. Mom could do most everything that needed to be done during those wee hours of Thanksgiving morning, alone, in the dark....if need be.
I would like to think that while chopping and dicing, Mom had time to dream about walking on a sandy, sun-dappled, Hawaiian beach with the sound of waves breaking and distant palm fronds flapping as the tropical trees swayed in the salty breezes. She loved the thought of being in Hawaii, but never cared much for having to fly in order to get there. Dreaming about it might have been as good as being there for her. Once, when I asked her about it, she just smiled as if to say that it would, in all likelihood, never happen. Sadly, it never did.
Eventually, the mouthwatering aroma of the baking bird would slither up the staircase calling my name like the aromatic curlicues that the characters from a black and white Saturday morning cartoon delightfully inhaled through their enlarged nostrils before devouring a substantial feast. Entering the kitchen with bare feet, I knew that by her side would be the warmest spot in the house. The uncomplicated act of hugging and kissing her was a simple but marvelous gift for me. While inhaling the freshness of the cut vegetables and the variety of cooking spices that mingled with the roasting turkey and dressing, I noticed the slight sheen of perspiration glistening above her brow-line even though her skin felt cool to the touch. These scents and images will touch my life forever. Despite being so young, I knew how blessed I was even then.
Mom always cooked way too much food for Thanksgiving. It was her way of giving a large part of herself to everyone she loved so much. Also, I believe it was her way of letting off steam that had accumulated throughout the year.
Women give vent to their frustration in various ways. For many women living in the 1950’s, the silent release of repressed emotions was particularly important for them. They should just have been happy to have a roof over their heads and children to take care of, and a husband who (hopefully) brought home his paycheck each week in order to pay the bills and keep that roof right where it belonged. The lifestyle and social norms of the middle-class during the 1950’s quickly lost any appeal it might have had for me and helped to pave the path for the surge of the women’s liberation movement in the ‘60’s.
Two generations later, after raising two daughters of my own and still fighting for equal pay in the workplace and the right to manage our own body, we are suddenly embroiled in a battle against the unknown: A deadly virus that has already taken the lives of 258,846 innocent souls in the United States alone. We exist in so-called tiny bubbles consisting of immediate family and close friends and know to monitor our comings and goings at all times in order to remain in this precious bubble.
As I wait to begin preparing my Thanksgiving meal on Thursday for our daughter Ali and her family, our own little bubble, I think about all of the families who will be missing one or more loved ones from their own bubble this year. Yet the thankfulness and the feasting will continue because...it must. We thank the scientists who are stepping up to create a vaccine to stop the spread of the coronavirus. We thank the medical staff and first responders for being there for us and risking their own lives everyday. We thank all of the critical retail and trade workers for supplying us with all of our basic essentials in life. Despite many setbacks, we have much to be thankful for this year.
Even though the times may have taken on a different public façade, I will always make time to reflect on the past while promoting the present and future by safely sharing precious time with my family during the holidays. Now, our daughters have families of their own with five little ones between them. I know they are creating their own traditions every holiday that will be merged with those from both sides of their families that have been handed down throughout the years. The turkey may be deep fried instead of baked and vegetables such as kale substituted for creamed corn, but life goes on and sharing the simple things together as a family will always remain the backbone of our existence.
If I could share, once again, those precious hours alone with my Mother in the dawn of a crisp Thanksgiving morning, I don't think I would change a single thing. What’s even more important to me is that I don’t think she would either.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO EVERYONE!
Stay safe inside your own little bubble this week so that you and your loved ones will stay healthy and be able to enjoy many more Thanksgivings in the years to come. Wear a mask when out in public. Be kind.
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| TURKEYS ON PARADE |
Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes
All rights reserved
