There’s a flow to the seasons.
When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was when Grandma and Grandpa arrived at daybreak with my uncle and their wormy dog. Which was also the morning mom cracked the cap on the cider she’d hidden beside the refrigerator to ferment on Halloween.
Here are a few memorable moments from my childhood Turkey Days:
- There was the year Mom told Grandma the dog had to stay in the car and Grandma went blind in the middle of the turkey dinner. (There is no way anyone could make this stuff up)
- The time our cat was in heat and spent the dinner wailing under the table as the boy cat bit her neck and did his best to impregnate her.
- The year my sister wanted to be a hair dresser and put grandma’s hair in one-hundred- twenty-four pigtails, each tied with a tiny orange ribbon. We still have the pictures from that year. Mom framed them.
- Once, both cats pranced elegantly across the white table cloth, helped themselves to cream, a chunk or two of turkey, and several rough tongue licks of butter. No one saw this little parade but my sister and me. At dinner, we flew into fits of hysterical giggles each time Grandma poured more cream into her coffee from the little silver pitcher or Dad heaped more butter on his rolls. We were sent from the table, but since there was nothing left on our plates but Brussel sprouts, neither of us cared.
- My favorite year was when my other grandma, who rarely came for the holidays, used vodka instead of water in the Jello mold. It was the only day of my childhood when all the relatives got along.
Good times, and really I have no idea why so many people have trouble with depression this time of year.