Thanksgiving Lite

My cousin reassured us last night, as we all sat moaning and holding our bellies, that this had been a low-fat, downright healthful Thanksgiving. Not only had we cut back on the horsd'oeuvres and added a brand new vegetable (deep fried pickles), but she had only used ten sticks of butter for the feast. It's bad enough that the older generation has all but died out; now the rest of us are going to waste away.

But oh those pickles, which had the illusory heart healthy benefit of contributing a splash of vitamin packed color to our otherwise white and yellow plates (as long as you squeezed the pickle out so you could just eat the pure cylinder of fried flour first). Forget about the deep fried turkey -- which was even more delicious than usual; you haven't lived until you've had a deep fried pickle. Or three. It must have been invented by southern Jews; a kosher dill encased in flavor disguising crispy fat. Not butter, remember; we cut back on that this year. Not lard, heaven forbid -- that's for the goyim. Turkey fat. Turkey is lean, so turkey fat must be really good for you. We Jews are very health conscious (it's why so many of us become doctors).

I look forward to the annual Thanksgiving gorge. My cousin is a fabulous cook -- although let's face it, what could possibly taste bad when ten sticks of butter is viewed as a major cut-back. By my calculation, that's more than half a stick per person, and that adds up to delicious, no matter how you slice it (or mash it, or melt it). But even though we all practically have our heads in the oven waiting to devour every course as it readies itself for the buffet, it's not just about the food. Really. It's not. (But I did tell you about the pickles, right?)

Thanksgiving is the one day of the year when all the living members of my family are together. At least all the ones I know. And even though some of us see each other occasionally during the year, the annual gathering is how we track each other's journeys and unravel our family history. Our weights yo-yo, some of us gain wrinkles, many of us lose a few brain cells, and each of us has experienced some life changing event over the past twelve months. It can be as simple as the youngest among us entering high school, or as earth shaking as a midlife career change. We converge from five states, and we are a veritable cross section of life. Ranging in age from fourteen to almost eighty, we represent almost every decade in between. We are young and elderly, single and long married, separated, widowed, forever single, recently married, soon to be married (maybe). We are all, in our own ways, always embarking upon new chapters.

Every year, we take a group picture and reminisce over the one from the last gathering. My kids and I viewed last year's picture together, silently, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Their dad was there last year. This year he wasn't. We all had a different take on it, I'm sure, but the gap in this year's picture made me hurt, mostly for my children. Even when you choose to let go it's hard.

People come and go, sticks of butter stay in the fridge, and new artery hardening delicacies appear, masquerading as vegetables. There are losses and gains -- of pounds and other baggage. This year, we were even in a different place; my cousins had the audacity to move. So I give thanks to my cousins for keeping the tradition alive, to my family for being there for me, even when we're all in different states, and to the ever versatile deep fryer, that returns every year to bring us new delights.