Traditions

I can't think of any holiday that revolves around tradition as much as Thanksgiving.  It's always on Thursday, and businesses usually get the rest of the weekend off, with the exception of retailers who are swarmed with shoppers trying to get Black Friday bargains.  Traffic is light everywhere but on the highways and in the airports, where frazzled travelers are in a rush to get to their in-laws/grandmothers/college roommate's house.  Even the classic menu is set in stone.  It's supposed to be a time to reflect on all that we are thankful for and is celebrated in some way by most people in our country; it's hard not to at least acknowledge it when even Starbucks and some gas stations are closed. 

Having a small immediate family, my Thanksgiving celebrations growing up were always very low-key.  We cooked all the basics, but nothing was made three days ahead of time and it was always just the four of us at the table.  It wasn't until my parents divorced that my mom and I started inviting a few neighbors or friends over, but the dining room table comfortably can't seat more than six people so we never exceeded that.  In my early 20s, I was invited to spend the holiday with my best friend's family in Kansas, and eagerly agreed.  I was not prepared for what it entailed- her mom cooking all week, a turkey and a ham, at least four pies, and more side-dishes than I could count.  Most of the six siblings were there, and with their spouses and children added in the house was filled to the brim.  It was chaotic, overwhelming, and wonderful.  I finally "got" what people meant when they talked about big family holiday get-togethers.  I actually went back for Christmas that year to again feel the stunning sense of love and warmth I felt when I was there- not that there wasn't love at home, but this was on a much more amplified scale. 

In the years since, Mom and I occasionally went over to a neighbor's but pretty much continued to keep things small and traditional at her house.  Dad was invited over once after he moved back to Evanston, but, um, was never asked to return.  After that I would usually would cook something for him in the middle of the afternoon and spend the evening at Mom's- he never was big on holidays and they are extremely important to her.  This year, everything seemed different.  With Dad ailing and my stress level so high, I had a hard time making plans for Thanksgiving or even thinking about it.  I was relieved when a friend asked me to house-sit for her pit bull- it gave me a distraction, something to look forward to, and an "excuse" not to make any commitments.  

Kotter, always ready to play!

Sensing my distraction, Mom invited some neighbors over and said I was welcome to join them if I wanted but didn't pressure me.  My friend said I could have people over at her house, but most people I knew were either traveling or had other plans.  So I spent Thanksgiving morning moving into the house, and sharing some quality time with Mr. Kotter.  He was nothing but adoring, obedient, attentive, and loving the whole time.  I then went for a swim to clear my head, and met up with another friend who had given me word the day before that he didn't have plans and was in the same sort of apathetic mood about the holiday as I was. 

This friend and I can't really go much more than 45 seconds together before laughing and our brains seem to work in the same strange way, so he was perfect company.  We decided to visit Dad, and stopped by Mom's to say a quick hello.  On the way up, we laughed at the line flowing out of Boston Market, which seemed funny at the time.  When we got to Maryhaven, Dad was more interested in the pumpkin pie I brought him than talking, which was fine with us.  We sang the Adam Sandler "Turkey Song", the Super Bowl Shuffle, Ella's "The Man I Love" (at Dad's request), and laughed at Fats Waller's "Your Feet's Too Big".  We talked about the Cubbies, the Bears, and anything else that might hold Dad's attention for more than 30 seconds.  On our way home, we realized that everything had suddenly turned into a ghost town and wished that Boston Market was still open.  We found the one place in Evanston that was serving and got Thai take-out to bring back to the house, stopping at my friend's apartment on the way to pick up the pumpkin pie he had made earlier in the day.  When we got back to the house, we reflected on what we were thankful for before digging into a very unconventional holiday dinner.  After a second helping of pie, we collapsed on the couch and watched "Sister Act", which initiated much more singing. 

Instead of a weekend of tradition, it was a time of firsts.  My first overnight with Kotter, and the first holiday I didn't have plans laid out in advance.  Dad's first (and probably last) Thanksgiving at Maryhaven, Mom's first holiday with vegan guests, and my first gluten-free pie.  It was the first holiday I felt completely okay with bucking tradition and just doing what felt right.  While I fully respect and appreciate the big celebrations and get-togethers, this year called for nothing more than giving thanks to the everyday joys and gifts.