In my mind’s eye, when I recall past Thanksgivings, they are all primarily about colour – bursts of brilliant oranges, reds, purples, and mustard yellows, reflected in dark pools of water. Sort of like a Tom Thompson painting, and even though I know that they couldn’t all have been that intensely colourful, I don’t remember any rainy ones. To me, they were all full of colour.
In my mind’s eye, the next thing I recall, of course, has to do with the smell of Thanksgiving. Coming back from long walks in the countryside, to the aroma of cooking turkey and cooling pumpkin pie, is simply….. wonderful. Everything is ready for family and friends to descend. Lots of people share this memory.
After all the food is consumed, (fifteen minutes later), and we are stuffed to the gills, comes the downside – cleaning up all those dishes! Reality hits, but even this has its moment – the comradery, the laughter, (usually among the women), while clearing up the mess. You would miss this if you used paper plates, although it has crossed my mind to do just that.
While most of these memories of Thanksgiving are pretty universal, I do feel thankful to have them, and writing them down has shown me how selective memory can be. There must have been some illness, or unhappiness, on a few of these days – but I don’t remember. It appears, as well, that anticipation means more to me that the actual meal itself.
So, what are your memories of Thanksgiving all about? What do those memories say about you? Does your tale include the above themes, or is it completely different? Were there eccentric ancestors, or crazy pets, at your table? Did you serve turkey, or canned salmon? Did you have a Thanksgiving day?