Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is and has always been one of my favorite holidays. I have vivid memories of waiting for my cousins to arrive from Chicago and their tales of dreadful traffic through the Sumner Tunnel or wild snowstorms on Route 2. Once they arrived, the rituals began: our walks to the Colonial Inn to greet my aunt and uncle, buying maple sugar candy in the gift shop, epic night games of My Gools 1, 2, and 3 (yes, that is how it was spelled), and treks around Walden Pond while my mother got dessert ready—repeated year after year. Sometimes we mixed things up by venturing to Plymouth to see the famous ‘rock’ or one of the idyllic North Shore towns on the ocean. Still, our habits were pretty ingrained, and they offered plenty of fodder for stories that got more and more outrageous over time.

Neither of my parents was particularly adventurous in the kitchen, and they leaned on their midwestern roots to prepare a hearty, delicious meal. My dad took care of the turkey, and my mom cooked everything else. Our table was right out of the Norman Rockwell painting. It was years later that I learned the image was one of four he illustrated in honor of Franklin Roosevelt's 1941 Four Freedoms address (Speech, Worship, Want, and Fear). Missing from his painting, however, was our kids' table, which either felt like an honor or purgatory, depending on the state of my adolescent malaise. Of course, when my older cousin, Dave, was seated there, life was good. Our cousins' departure on Sunday morning was always sad, but we knew we had done it right and honored the promise of Thanksgiving. We were thankful.

In a little over a week, near the coast of Rhode Island, I will wait for my daughter to drive from Providence and my son and his wife from Philadelphia. Traffic and weather may conspire against my hopes of getting to bed before midnight, but like my father before me, I will wait. My kids and my wife are excellent cooks and much more adventurous than I am, so cooking is decidedly a family affair. In fact, my son taught himself to cook because he said he needed a backup in case there was an appearance of a midwestern casserole. While our menu and preparation will look very familiar, we have branched out from the Bracker/Bergland menu circa 1970. Pushing at the culinary edges, we now spatchcock the turkey, mix cream cheese into the mashed potatoes, and add kale to the salad. While the rituals have moved south about 80 miles from my childhood home, the joy and gratitude Thanksgiving brings have not diminished. 

I wish you all a wonderful holiday. I am thankful that you are part of the Poly community.

Best,

John