November Surprises

As we have almost every year for as long as I can remember, we sat at the outsized rectangular table, sneaking morsels from our overstuffed plates while we awaited my cousins' opening toast. Painful moments of delayed gluttony, extended this year by a brief debate about exactly how many years we had been doing this. Not the kind of thing you do around my salivating relatives, unless you want to be beaten about the head with a drumstick.

While the threat of political discourse caused some families to skip Thanksgiving this year, that kind of breach was not even on our radar. Yes, we narrowly avoided a food fight when a misguided minority thought it appropriate to have discourse about, well, anything with the aromas of our imminent feast so tantalizingly close, but cool heads prevailed. We shut down the controversy, agreed to disagree, did a clockwise clink of glasses around the table, reaffirmed our gratitude, and dug in. 

There have been different houses over the years, different guests, and always, to our dismay, a handful of absentees. Turkey preparation techniques have evolved, with smoked and fried holding fast for a number of years now. Every year, the side dishes become more obscene -- both in number and calorie count -- but each one is indispensable, at least to somebody. We add, but we rarely subtract. 

Family gatherings and holidays -- those annual events we look forward to with an extraordinarily odd mix of excitement and dread. Because I flew straight to Connecticut this year and descended upon my cousins while they were still in their pajamas, I got the inside scoop on how, after all these years, they have managed to greet us with such grace. Sure, they put me to work with some last minute slicing and dicing, but I got to participate in the pre-game. Ah ha! Well sure, after a large Bloody Mary and this thing called a "pickle back," I practically lifted my mom off the ground with a giant bear hug when she finally arrived. And all this time I thought my cousins actually enjoyed hosting us!

The truth is, though, it's our glue, and we wouldn't trade it for anything. My children have known no other Thanksgiving since they were born, and, though two are in far flung places this year, they still joined via Face Time. We love the constants -- the lame jokes, the wooden pilgrims on the table, the excess, the food comas (interrupted briefly by dessert). Our babies have become grown-ups, and some have had babies of their own. 

When we went around the table to share a picture we had each been instructed to bring (a new and hopefully lasting tradition), my young cousin's husband summed it up best. He had chosen a picture of him and his son, now ten months old, both of them wearing Redskins shirts (his team). What he saw in the picture, he said, was the "him" of not so long ago, who could never have imagined how this little guy would change everything. We were all moved, even the young couples, the ones who don't yet have children and still have no idea, even though they have some idea, if only from watching the rest of us. 

One blink ago, I was the young mom chasing babies, wishing they would take a nap. I miss those days -- sort of -- but watching them grow, and seeing the adults all our babies have become, there's nothing better. This morning, I'm kind of hoping for another Bloody Mary and maybe even another pickle back with my annual bagel breakfast in Connecticut. Buzzed or not, though, I am well aware of how much there is to be thankful for.