Around our Table

Last Sunday, I did the grocery shopping for Thanksgiving. I knew the store would get more crowded later in the week, and in light of Covid I only wanted to make one trip. 

The checkout lady, examining the contents of my cart asked if I was cooking Thanksgiving dinner. 

'Yes I am,' I enthusiastically replied.  

'Well, good luck,' she said. 

It must have been a question and answer on repeat this year - a different form of check out line banter giving the sales people a chuckle. All too many awe-struck women and men passing through, trying to decipher what they were going to do with the contents of their cart when they got home. Here we go again. Another experience, chore, and potential disaster to add to this abnormal year. 

I took the woman's well wishes in stride. Luck? I didn't need luck. I had my Grandma Fischer's recipes, my Dad a quick call away, and my detail oriented husband by my side. We would surely be successful in our dinner preparation. 

I started cooking on Wednesday morning, in lock step with the processes and patterns my Dad was executing in Pittsburgh. Boiling and stirring the cranberries, running them through a sieve, then reheating the juices until it thickened enough to put in the mold. I made Pumpkin Pie and cranberry bread with the kids. I coaxed the neck and giblets out of our still slightly frozen fourteen pound turkey while simultaneously holding back vomit from pure disgust at what I was doing. I chopped celery and onions, made some already stale bread staler, and then simmered the aforementioned, and apparently edible, turkey parts as the base for gravy. 

On Thursday, I tossed the bread, vegetables and stock together, stuffed the bird, baked and basted, baked and basted, baked and basted; I said a little prayer as I removed the jelly from the mold and shouted halleluiah as it finally slid out; I peeled and mashed potatoes, made the corn bread, and set the table with our good china and linens. 

In my experience behind the stove, there are some dinners that just seem to click. When everything miraculously goes right. This was one of them. I smiled with pride as we sat down to eat a beautiful feast.

What happened next can best be described by Peter's statement, 'who knew the hardest part of dinner would be eating it.' There was a fight over who lead the prayer and a fight over who went first giving thanks. Mary filled up her plate but didn't like or eat most of it. Bobby said he wanted meat, not turkey. Margaret put her feet, tap shoes and all up on the table. The babies cried and cried. And five minutes later everyone was asking for ice cream. I gave everyone a better behavior speech and dismissed the kids to the basement until Peter and I finished.  

Despite the dinner table chaos, the food was great, the champagne even better, and seeing Peter joyfully fill up his plate three times made it worth the effort.

***

After the argument over who went first, we did end up sharing the words of gratitude that Mary made us write on pieces of paper in her hand crafted 'thankful cup.' 

Peter pulled his out and said he was thankful for the twins and the big helpers we have: Mary, Bobby and Margaret.

I said I was thankful for my kids' school and coming off of stellar first trimester report cards, all the progress they were making.  

Mary and Bobby both expressed thanks for their mom and dad while Margaret drew a square, surely representing something, but she wasn't around to defend herself when her piece of paper was drawn.

There were a couple others, but these are the ones I remember. 

While I contributed one thing, my appreciation this year goes much further. 

I'm thankful for the help we've had over the past two months, including visitors who braved the Covid cooties in Ohio, Indiana and Illinois just to hold a baby and offer me another hour of sleep. 

I'm thankful for my job, my company and the gift of maternity leave. 

I'm thankful for the roof over our heads and a yard big enough to contain the energy of my children. 

I'm thankful for our health. 

I'm thankful for my family ... 

for my friends ...

 

and perhaps most importantly my faith and the ability to practice it again.  

I'm truly thankful for this year. Despite the loss we've all felt, no matter what depth or dimension, I think it's brought forward our humanity in a novel and necessary way. It's exposed our frailty, our failings, and some of our greatest fears. But in the face of it, we've experienced ingenuity, resilience and compassion. It's a year that could bring us together in a way we never have before ... when and if we choose to accept that path forward. 

Lo. 

             

Slimer

My kids start discussing Halloween costumes months before the holiday. Generally, I prompt the debate with suggestions on a theme. They were super heroes one year, Greasers another, Robin Hood and Tinker Bell before that. But my persuasive power is waning. They've become too independent for my off the wall ideas. Instead, they flip flop back and forth on more personalized choices each week leading up to Halloween. I tend to order their final selection as close to the holiday as possible to prevent a change of heart at the last minute. 

This year, Bobby was the most indecisive. He originally was set on being something scary. He had visions of a skeleton, then a bloody vampire, then a frightening Frankenstein. But the options for skeleton weren't scary enough, vampires required too much crafting and make-up and he distrusted my ability to deliver, and Frankenstein bordered on babyish. His words, not mine. He finally chose an inflatable, electric green Slimer costume ... 'but only if Dad goes as a Ghostbuster.' Okay. Ordered. And there's no backing out now. 

My parents were in town when the costumes arrived. The kids dug into the Costume Express box, claimed their characters, and immediately put them on to parade around the house. Bobby was the clear favorite, and we laughed and laughed as Peter came down in his adult Ghostbuster costume to match his little sidekick. I couldn't wait to take pictures on Halloween.

On the 31st, as fate would have it, Bobby decided he didn't want to be a big green blob anymore. Instead he wanted to go as his two-year old self, good old Super Man. The costume was snug to say the least, but he argued that he could see better and run faster in it. Fair points. But I spent $50 on Slimer, buddy, come on! 

No dice. He was suited up and not looking back. 

So instead of the perfectly planned, theme-oriented cast of characters that I envisioned that evening, I found Rapunzel, Hermione, a too-tight Super Man, a Ghostbuster, Ketchup and Mustard. A motley crew, but a happy one. 

Halloween felt normal. And everyone that I talked to said the same. It was an almost eerie reminder of what life was like before the pandemic. It was refreshing: to focus on trivial fights over costume selections, to decorate the house, to see the kids run off with their dad collecting candy, to experience the sugar high and bed time low of Halloween, to celebrate like we always have and photograph the memories. It felt like the world was in order. 

But if Halloween was defined as normal, Thanksgiving will be characterized as abnormal. 

As the virus spreads, allegedly propelled by Halloween parties, the CDC has said not to travel. So we aren't going to Pittsburgh. And for the first time ever, I won't spend a holiday with my family in a given year. 

In my state, we are encouraged to only dine with those in our household, or to keep the celebration size to six people. We have seven under this roof, so Slimer might have to eat outside. Just kidding, buddy. 

To that end, the officials advise to eat outside if you can. In the upper midwest, that is typically not an option in late November. 

My Grandma's heirloom recipes call for a 14 or 15 pound bird I think. With only five of us eating the solid part of dinner, I'll need to pare down the portions.  

The restaurants and bars are closed, so no Thanksgiving eve revelries.  

There is a telecast of a virtual Macy's Day parade. I don't even know what that means. 

And while I have my reservation for Mass on Thursday, I'm praying they don't close the churches by then. 

This litany of change is what the world is focused on. The new abnormal. The departure from the familiar. The differences, inconveniences and sacrifices. But similar to how we got through Easter, I've been reflecting on the good that has come from the pandemic inspired shifts. Perhaps the normalcy we all miss needed a change. 

For example, don't you wonder how you ever ate a piece of cake after it was blown all over? Or took M&Ms from the communal dish at work that you know was handled by unwashed hands. The prescription of public health measures in our society is long over due. I actually feel like we might not get sick this fall - and we always get sick in the fall. And winter. And spring. 

I've found that people have learned to cope with humor more than ever. And the stuff going around online is hysterical. 

I've never talked to my high school and college friends as much - even though it's not in person, we've made efforts to call each other, zoom and text like we never have before. 

I've also gotten closer with my community and the families in our neighborhood - the friendly faces on my walks make my day. 

Working from home, prior to my maternity leave, made me more productive on the job and at home. 

Smaller gatherings have replaced chaos with intimacy. 

And I've appreciated the blessings of an open school and church in an unimaginable way. I can't thank our teachers and Parish staff enough. 

So basically, I think Bobby was onto something the moment he said he didn't want to be Slimer for Halloween. He was tired of being slimed this year. Instead he reached for something super. Because in this pandemic, we need more heroes, less Slimers, more smiles.  

Lo.