Thanksgiving

The first year I cooked Thanksgiving dinner was out of necessity. It was my second year of law school. We had the entire week off. My sister called the Thursday night before Thanksgiving to tell me her back was out and to ask me to please drive to Nashville to help her. A friend and I were living in a professor's house while he was on sabbatical that year. It had a very Frank Loyd Wrightish feel. I was in the oddly positioned "den" of the house when the phone rang Friday morning. I turned off the vacumn to answer it.

My mother was in tears on the other end and asked me to please stop at their apartment in Atlanta on the way to Nashville because she and my dad had something to tell me. She said something else about him leaving and driving to South Alabama. I couldn't really make everything out, but I kind of felt like I was starring in an afterschool special about children of divorced parents all of a sudden. I just remember staring out those full length windows at the spring over which the house was built and wondering how I got there.

I gave up on the cleaning and just got on the road. When I got to the apartment, they were both there and told me that after 33 years of marriage they were separating. I just went numb and tried not to look either one of them in the eye. They asked me to share this news with my sister. "It would be better for her to hear it in person."

By the time I got to Nashville, Sissy had been to the doctor and was scheduled for surgery on Tuesday. She was in so much pain it was barely being managed by the pain meds (nearly all of which cause her to throw up she began to discover that week) and she didn't really register what I was telling her about our parents. It's weird what I remember about that week. I don't really remember my conversation with her, but I do remember the trip her friend Susan and I took to the Green Hills Grille to get take out. Susan ordered tuna tatayki and it was the first taste I ever had of it. I also remember realizing that I was going to have to handle this by myself.

My parents announced that they would be arriving for her surgery as well. As usual, there was some rigamarole about logistics that was going to require that they ride together. When one or the other of them protested, I told them not to bother coming at all if they couldn't spend 3 hours in the car together.

The surgery went fine--it was outpatient and she was back home that night. We made a large pallet on the floor in the den so she wouldn't have to climb the stairs to her bedroom.

The key to our Thanksgiving meal is my grandmother's corn bread dressing. My mom and I made an effort to pick up a few other things on Wednesday, but I knew I would have to try to make Nanee's dressing. I called her and got the recipe. She lamented the fact that she had already thawed out the turkey in anticipation of us being there and I basically told her to stuff it.

The dressing that year was edible, but it was not what we were used to. The corn bread was too sweet. You see, having never bothered to help Nanee that much in the kitchen (other than mashed potatoes--those have been my specialty for years now) I had no idea that the Jiffy mix cornbread is entirely too sweet for dressing. We ate it, and in a back handed way we were all thankful to be together. In reality, my parents never really lived any more separately than they already were (they were already maintaining two households) after their big announcement the week before Thanksgiving that year. Instead, they made the choice to struggle through a very rough time together.

This year, we'll be back at Nanee and Pop-aw's. We'll mix the dressing up in the same big dish pan that we used to use to shell peas. We'll scrounge around for trivets at the last minute and Nanee will have a fit if we put that Elvis one out on the sideboard. Instead, we'll use those God awful wicker ones she is so fond of. Daddy will offer a prayer of Thanksgiving that will make all of us cry. We'll sit at the table in the dining room with the horrible blue carpet and dated wall paper and Nanee will scold us for laughing so loudly. Sissy will oo and ah over the sweet potato balls and Pop aw will say that he can't eat too much sweet stuff or it will upset his stomach. Sissy will once again lament the fact that we don't keep the tea pitcher on the table and get up to get everyone some more to drink. Pop-aw and Mom will only want about "this" much. Somebody will mention the time I got stuck in the pond and Pop aw will talk about taking me to McDonald's and putting ketchup on my french fries. When Nanee asks if anyone wants dessert, Daddy will rub his belly and say not right now. Pop aw will just want a little piece. Mom will ask who wants coffee and get it started. The dogs will get up Daddy will yell at them to lie back down. Etta will be very ashamed of herself because of this. Wiley will still want something to eat.

I don't know what Will will be doing. Last year, he really liked the sweet potatoes. He generally likes broccoli, so he'll probably enjoy the broccoli casserole. He'll be entertaining us, I can promise you that. I will be very thankful that he's there and that we had one last opportunity (I'm guessing) to sit around that table in that room where we've spent so many hours. Even though he probably won't remember it when he's older, we will. My grandparents will remember having him in their home. We'll have at least a few memories to share with him from that house that holds so much of our childhoods. I'll be thankful I've spent the last 5 years in the kitchen with Nanee, learning all her secrets to that famous dressing.