Delicious memories are served up in my mind this time of year. Remembering wonderful Thanksgivings at my Memaw’s house cause a warmth to coat my soul and I cannot help but feel the corners of my mouth turn up into a smile as I reflect on those days. When I was seven years old it was as if that particular day was etched on the forefront of my brain instead of being pushed to the drawers of archived memory. There was no crisis, no life-changing event, nothing extraordinary to cause this memory to remain so vivid. In fact it was just another holiday in the life of just another girl. I remember I had spent the night with my beloved paternal grandmother and woke up to a cold gray sky. This brought extreme excitement to my juvenile thinking pattern: “maybe it will snow!” Of course it didn’t but at least it looked like it could and in Alabama that was about as good as it got. If we got any holiday white it was bound to be Groundhog’s Day and I don’t particularly think groundhogs need a holiday. Anyway I remember looking out the dining room window on that cold morning and just losing myself in thought over building snowmen and eating snow-made ice-cream. The clanging and banging coming from Memaw’s kitchen soon brought me back to reality. I remember that kitchen with its spic and span gray floor reflecting the shine of gleaming white cabinets. Nothing was ever out of place in this house and I liked that. It made me feel secure knowing that everything had its place including me. Memaw patiently let me ‘help.’ She always wore an apron over a church dress when we had these family dinners. She would wear a simple pearl strand necklace and it looked nice even with her apron. My kids would probably freak out if they saw me donned in an apron and especially if I had on a dress complete with my best jewelry! But Memaw, well that was her way. This day she was hard at work creating a dish that I wish like the dickens I could remember how to make; her famous cinnamon apples. I only remember that she used Red Hots® candy as an ingredient and she always let me have any leftover candies. I loved watching her use an old metal scoop in the big clear glass sugar bowl. Why do I remember so many details about an old bowl? I don’t know. But she would dig in and then sprinkle the sugar on the apples while humming some old hymns. I liked listening to her hum better than having the radio on. She often kept the radio dialed into a news station and the news often frightened me. It talked about a war somewhere in a place called Asia with guys being killed, it talked about some people protesting downtown because awhile back a lady named Rosa couldn’t sit on the bus, and it talked about some people in California my grandmother called hippies and she said I couldn’t be one. I didn’t even know what they were but I did hear they had flowers in their hair and that sounded pretty to me. Oh well as long as Patty Duke wasn’t a hippie I was ok because I thought she was the best and I wanted to be like her. Well then the Brady girls came along and … oh yeh back to Thanksgiving. The biggest turkey I had ever seen had just come out of the oven and now Memaw was ready to make her dressing. Fortunately I paid closer attention to this and I do believe that I have perfected it for myself all these years later. She let me help set the tables. The large dining table would have a crisp ironed (do you hear me – ironed!) linen tablecloth and the kitchen table would have a clean, although more worn, cloth on it. Soon the cars would drive up and the gaggle of cousins, aunts and uncles would pounce on her little stone house. The arriving dishes each smelled yummy but I do believe looking back, that it was the gathering that made this a most special day. The kids sat in the kitchen while the grown-ups sat in the dining room. That was fine with us youngsters because we would be more comfortable, like picking up food dropped on the floor and eating it while laughing with mouths wide open, wiping our noses on our sleeves and swapping familial germs as we drank after each other. We could giggle and snort without reprimand or stern looks from adults. It was one of the few times we got to eat by ourselves and we took full advantage of it. We did not grow up to be savages contrary to what you might be thinking at this point. The sound of grown-up voices from the other room was as warm and comforting as gravy on potatoes. My parents, aunts and uncles sounded happy and that made me happy. I had no idea as a small girl of the troubles or trials many of them faced. They were just family to me and this once a year get-together ushered in the holiday season for us. My Memaw loved all this ruckus too. I could see it in her face as she would grin and the lines around her eyes drew closer together with each twinkle. After dinner and much visiting the late November skies darkened early and brought even more cheer to my seven year old frame. Thanksgiving Day drawing to a close could only mean one thing – the Christmas season had begun! No store would dare set out a red and green anything until Macey’s Thanksgiving Day parade concluded with jolly Old St. Nick waving to all the kiddies. Now it was official, Christmas was upon us. Oh yes, my brothers, cousins and I out talked each other on what we wanted for Christmas and how we would soon go on the hunt through the woods for the perfect Christmas tree. There was a method to that but I’ll save those details for another story. Before long it was time to depart, time to go home, time for bed, and this little girl slept in peace knowing that she was loved by generations of a family called Taylor. How soon that peace would unravel but for now all was well and thoughts of Christmas skipped across the pages of her dreams…

Thank you Lord Jesus for family.

Penny

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