Thanksgiving is a great time to remember past gatherings. I certainly have plenty of memories from my past, filled as it is with many years of living. Those from my childhood are even more vivid than those from the more recent past. It seems odd to me, however, perhaps that is because they made more of an impression to a child.
As a very young child of five or six I enjoyed playing with the unique to me toys at Great Aunt Alice’s. She had a wooden truck loaded with carved alphabet blocks. I remember setting it out on the lovely thick, white and red Persian carpet in the big living room downstairs.
At some point we must have moved upstairs to a smaller room where I remember sitting in the recessed window seat that overlooked the lawn and the huge old apple tree. There the grownups chatted and drank a pre-dinner cocktail and perhaps had a cigarette from the wooden box on the coffee table while I read my latest library book.
As a child of course I didn’t know this, but later I was told a non-family member, was always invited to these gatherings to help make sure everyone behaved in a kindly, courteous way—was on their best behavior, so to speak. I believe the invitee was probably a friend of Aunt Alice’s. Their names and faces do not stick in my memory.
Tales from the past were shared. One I recall was of my grandmother, Nonny. She spoke of a time when as a child she discovered the cooked bird sitting waiting to be served and tore off all the skin . She ate it before anyone caught her. Later in time that tale was a great source of merriment.
I remember being given a taste of wine or champagne at around the age of twelve. This was my father’s idea, which was not seconded by my mother. More vivid in my mind is the shallow, footed silver dish—there were two, one at each end of the table, filled with chocolates from a box. I was allowed to have some after dinner, but no more than two if even that many.
I was eight plus years older than my sister, and twelve and fourteen years older than my two brothers. I don’t have any distinct memories of my siblings attendance at these dinners; I do recall bringing my two oldest to them, though these dinners ended before their brothers were born. I’m happy my older daughters too have their recollections of them.
I am very thankful for these and other memories. they provide me with a precious reminder of a very different kind of lifestyle. The new ones of the present time bring different faces to the table, which is in a different room, yet equally laden and surrounded with smiles. Memories are an important part of the Thanksgiving feast. They provide a taste of the past brought into the present for all to share.
May you have precious memories to share in years to come.
Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert
PS Though I have less time to write these days, I welcome your responses and hope always to reply to any comments, questions, or suggestions you may make.
Most children have no concept of time and little to no understanding of loss, not to mention the concept of “goodbye.” Ironically however, one of the first things a mother teaches her baby is to wave “bye bye.” When we put them to bed for the night we are teaching them about leaving and being left. The first skill a child learns in the high chair is to drop things over the edge. At one level the life of any human being from birth onward is one long saying of goodbye.
In days gone by when my children were small and Christmas was something of a big production, by the evening of the 25th everyone was satisfied to play with his or her toys, eat the festival leftovers and chill out. It was then that I would take my guitar in hand and drive with it to the Beverly hospital to play for the patients. I was a regular volunteer there so I would don my pink volunteer jacket and go around to the wards and private rooms to play Christmas music together with my usual folk tunes.
My mother grew vegetables and fruit and canned them for use during the winter and spring. I remember her on the hot days in August and September, lifting the glass jars out of their steaming water bath in the large canning pot in our small kitchen. Once cooled, the jars went to line shelves in the basement. During winter and spring she had all kinds of vegetables and fruit to choose from. Eating locally was common in those days because food that grew in faraway places was not available. Canning diminished with the advent of freezer chests. Consuming food in New England that was grown in Mexico, China or other distant countries was unheard of.
As a child I so looked forward to school vacation and the freedom it brought from discipline, homework and schedules. Whenever weather permitted, my time was spent out doors wandering around the rather large property where my parents and I lived. It belonged to my Great Aunt Alice, whose father had built the grand house she lived in now, as well as the cottage originally intended for the gardener. That was where I, and later on my brothers and sister lived. There was a broad, open field to roam in, trees to climb, and a small marsh bounded by a dyke that kept out most of the distant seawater.
Pujakins 