So, here goes. Thanksgiving, Part One.
I wish I had written this much sooner, when I could still remember all the funny little things that happened. When I reflect on the week, my most salient memory is how much I laughed out loud. In general, I think of my life as a very happy one. I love my family, home, friends, and routines. I smile a lot, and I think I have a good sense of humor. But every time I'm around someone who laughs heartily and frequently, I wish I had that impulse. (There are also times I wish I could cry more readily. Maybe I'm stuck in some sort of neutral zone.)
Anyway, it all started on Thursday, the 20th. We took a very early flight west. Yes, you read that right. My family lives in upstate NY, and our layover was in Phoenix. Being the environmentalists that we are, we tried to think about that as little as possible. Although the decor announced that Phoenix was "America's Friendliest Airport," we didn't find it to be so. We ended up having to leave security, take a bus to another terminal, then go through security again- which is not so much fun with two small children. We got to our gate a few minutes early, just in time for Jubilee's diaper to leak through the one-piece pajamas she was still wearing, since she had refused to get dressed before we left. Extra pants I had, but no extra shirt, since we didn't anticipate the PJ scenario. The only t-shirt I could find that was sort of her size (it only went to her knees) said Desert Princess on it. Ugh. Jubilee is far more Invincible Sword Goddess than anything Princess. Anyway, I gritted my teeth and paid for the $17 shirt. I reminded myself that we were all healthy, together, and on vacation. It's not like she can read, anyway.
Next layover- Cleveland. The kids were fascinated by the snow they could watch through the window.
Jubi mesmerized by the outdoor scene.And covered with lollipop- an airplane essential.
We landed in Buffalo around 9 pm, piled into our rental, and drove to my dad and Melanie's home in Lockport, NY. I finally began to relax on that drive, and found myself telling Jon stories from my childhood visits to that same home. The kids, awake, but seemingly mute, zoned out in their carseats.
My dad and Melanie have moved into and completely remodeled the home that my father grew up in. I remember going there as a child, always feeling a little uncomfortable, but also excited about what I might find. Every surface of the house was piled with mostly boring things- Prevention magazines, old newspapers- but if I rooted around enough, I could often find Snickers bars. If we said we liked something we found, sometimes we got to take it home. My grandpa taught me how to play chess, with great patience that I will hopefully channel one day, when the time comes to teach Zephyr and Jubilee the game. Whenever it became inevitable that he would win the game, he'd lean over the table, right hand extending towards mine, insisting we call it "a draw." It was an explore-worthy home, with secret rooms filled with discount barsoap and afghans- rooms I was never really sure if I had dreamed up, or if they really existed, since I often couldn't find them again.
Melanie was watching out the front door for us as we pulled into the driveway, and Dad jumped up to help with the luggage. It was late, and we were all tired, but our second wind kicked in, and we took the grand tour of the much improved house. The amount of time Dad and Melanie have put into the house is astounding. Completely decluttered, beautifully painted, dramatically updated kitchen and bathrooms, and all those mysterious nooks have been converted into usable space. Every room seemed familiar, yet reborn. Melanie explained that her goal was to maintain something from the "old" house in every area, and she was successful.
I really felt like a grown up when we were shown into the bedroom that my parents used to sleep in when we came there for visits. There were new pajamas on the bed for Zephyr and Jubilee- adorable, soft, button-down, warm pajamas, which were quickly named "Moose Pajamas" by the kids, remembering a line from the book Snoozers, "You've got to have buttons if you're a moose." So our long day ended, and we snuggled into sleep.
Zephyr was thrilled to awaken to snow the next morning. For years Zephyr and Jon have pantomimed snowball fights, and Zephyr was eager to try the real thing. As soon as some breakfast was swallowed, there was no holding them back. We bundled the kids up in the warmest things we had, and set out.
How happy they look! Obviously, the faces of folks who don't have to suffer the daily indignities of snow- shoveling it, driving in it, watching it grow dark and oily as the weeks trudge on and on...
My sister came to spend the day with us on Friday, and we decided to go visit our paternal grandmother in the nursing home where she resides. I was warned ahead of time that she wouldn't know me, but, to be honest, I wasn't going for her. I was going for me. She recently turned 90, and with the infrequency of our trips back east, I felt keenly aware that this may have been my last chance to see her. We left Jon and the kids cavorting in the snow, and went on a sister adventure.
We were pleasantly pleased with Grandma's alertness. As expected, she didn't know who we were, but she did hold up her end of the conversation. She was regretful that she couldn't remember us, but we told her we didn't mind. Our visit was temporarily hijacked by another resident, who introduced herself only as "a comedian who wasn't discovered yet," but someone else told us her name was Ethel. Ethel amused us by parking in the middle of the hall in her walker, seemingly unaware of the obstruction she created for everyone else trying to get through. She was a great conversationalist, but when she went down the hall to find some pictures to show us, we were relieved to focus once again on our grandmother, Anna Parker.
One thing Ethel told us is that she had never heard our grandma talk before. I don't think I will ever forget how Grandma explained it to us. "After a while, you learn that nothing you say or do makes any difference." Just as people started heading into the cafeteria for lunch, Grandma began retelling us, for the second time, about someone she knew that had something terrible happen to her in Florida. She said she didn't want to listen when the story was told, it was too horrible. (Have any of you ever seen Cold Comfort Farm? Remember "I saw something nasty in the woodshed?") One woman, slowly walking past, asked us if we had eaten yet. Just then, Grandma said the word "horrible," in relation to the Florida story. The passing woman commented, "The food's horrible? Always is." Yikes. No wonder Grandma had her walker bag filled with hoarded snacks.
We returned home to our lunch, which was mostly good- grilled cheese and tomato soup. I say mostly good, because my dad slipped some horseradish cheese into some of the sandwiches, and couldn't remember which ones, and I had the unfortunate luck of biting into one. Not my thing. The rest of that day is sort of a blur to me of puzzles, model railroads, books, conversation, and another snow session. And, of course, eating. Does everyone's family eat too much when they get together for holidays, or just mine? I don't think any of us were truly hungry for dinner (except maybe my dad, who has a truly unbelievable appetite,) but we had lasagna, garlic bread, and ice cream, anyway.
The next morning we got up too late to see my dad before he left for work, and all too soon, it was time to head to our next destination. We hadn't had good quality time with Dad and Melanie since they came to visit us when Zephyr was 18 months old, so it was a precious visit. I don't think anyone would be surprised to read that I didn't feel very close to my father growing up. He was very busy with work, and was also an unpredictable alcoholic. I am so proud of him for quitting drinking many years ago, and never looking back. Melanie has also defeated alcoholism, and recently traded smoking for piano playing, so I think she's conquered all vices. I feel like we have a lot in common with them- the desire to live a simple life, eating good food and enjoying time with loved ones. We knew we would see them again on Thanksgiving, but it would be in the fray. We were all glad to have this focused time together.
Stay tuned for the next installment of...Thanksgiving '08!
My dad and Melanie have moved into and completely remodeled the home that my father grew up in. I remember going there as a child, always feeling a little uncomfortable, but also excited about what I might find. Every surface of the house was piled with mostly boring things- Prevention magazines, old newspapers- but if I rooted around enough, I could often find Snickers bars. If we said we liked something we found, sometimes we got to take it home. My grandpa taught me how to play chess, with great patience that I will hopefully channel one day, when the time comes to teach Zephyr and Jubilee the game. Whenever it became inevitable that he would win the game, he'd lean over the table, right hand extending towards mine, insisting we call it "a draw." It was an explore-worthy home, with secret rooms filled with discount barsoap and afghans- rooms I was never really sure if I had dreamed up, or if they really existed, since I often couldn't find them again.
Melanie was watching out the front door for us as we pulled into the driveway, and Dad jumped up to help with the luggage. It was late, and we were all tired, but our second wind kicked in, and we took the grand tour of the much improved house. The amount of time Dad and Melanie have put into the house is astounding. Completely decluttered, beautifully painted, dramatically updated kitchen and bathrooms, and all those mysterious nooks have been converted into usable space. Every room seemed familiar, yet reborn. Melanie explained that her goal was to maintain something from the "old" house in every area, and she was successful.
I really felt like a grown up when we were shown into the bedroom that my parents used to sleep in when we came there for visits. There were new pajamas on the bed for Zephyr and Jubilee- adorable, soft, button-down, warm pajamas, which were quickly named "Moose Pajamas" by the kids, remembering a line from the book Snoozers, "You've got to have buttons if you're a moose." So our long day ended, and we snuggled into sleep.
Zephyr was thrilled to awaken to snow the next morning. For years Zephyr and Jon have pantomimed snowball fights, and Zephyr was eager to try the real thing. As soon as some breakfast was swallowed, there was no holding them back. We bundled the kids up in the warmest things we had, and set out.
How happy they look! Obviously, the faces of folks who don't have to suffer the daily indignities of snow- shoveling it, driving in it, watching it grow dark and oily as the weeks trudge on and on...My sister came to spend the day with us on Friday, and we decided to go visit our paternal grandmother in the nursing home where she resides. I was warned ahead of time that she wouldn't know me, but, to be honest, I wasn't going for her. I was going for me. She recently turned 90, and with the infrequency of our trips back east, I felt keenly aware that this may have been my last chance to see her. We left Jon and the kids cavorting in the snow, and went on a sister adventure.
We were pleasantly pleased with Grandma's alertness. As expected, she didn't know who we were, but she did hold up her end of the conversation. She was regretful that she couldn't remember us, but we told her we didn't mind. Our visit was temporarily hijacked by another resident, who introduced herself only as "a comedian who wasn't discovered yet," but someone else told us her name was Ethel. Ethel amused us by parking in the middle of the hall in her walker, seemingly unaware of the obstruction she created for everyone else trying to get through. She was a great conversationalist, but when she went down the hall to find some pictures to show us, we were relieved to focus once again on our grandmother, Anna Parker.
One thing Ethel told us is that she had never heard our grandma talk before. I don't think I will ever forget how Grandma explained it to us. "After a while, you learn that nothing you say or do makes any difference." Just as people started heading into the cafeteria for lunch, Grandma began retelling us, for the second time, about someone she knew that had something terrible happen to her in Florida. She said she didn't want to listen when the story was told, it was too horrible. (Have any of you ever seen Cold Comfort Farm? Remember "I saw something nasty in the woodshed?") One woman, slowly walking past, asked us if we had eaten yet. Just then, Grandma said the word "horrible," in relation to the Florida story. The passing woman commented, "The food's horrible? Always is." Yikes. No wonder Grandma had her walker bag filled with hoarded snacks.
We returned home to our lunch, which was mostly good- grilled cheese and tomato soup. I say mostly good, because my dad slipped some horseradish cheese into some of the sandwiches, and couldn't remember which ones, and I had the unfortunate luck of biting into one. Not my thing. The rest of that day is sort of a blur to me of puzzles, model railroads, books, conversation, and another snow session. And, of course, eating. Does everyone's family eat too much when they get together for holidays, or just mine? I don't think any of us were truly hungry for dinner (except maybe my dad, who has a truly unbelievable appetite,) but we had lasagna, garlic bread, and ice cream, anyway.
The next morning we got up too late to see my dad before he left for work, and all too soon, it was time to head to our next destination. We hadn't had good quality time with Dad and Melanie since they came to visit us when Zephyr was 18 months old, so it was a precious visit. I don't think anyone would be surprised to read that I didn't feel very close to my father growing up. He was very busy with work, and was also an unpredictable alcoholic. I am so proud of him for quitting drinking many years ago, and never looking back. Melanie has also defeated alcoholism, and recently traded smoking for piano playing, so I think she's conquered all vices. I feel like we have a lot in common with them- the desire to live a simple life, eating good food and enjoying time with loved ones. We knew we would see them again on Thanksgiving, but it would be in the fray. We were all glad to have this focused time together.
Stay tuned for the next installment of...Thanksgiving '08!
3 comments:
Such a good description of your grandparents' house during your childhood. The house itself is historic for that area, having been built around 1825 with cobblestones from Lake Ontario. Readers can see one of the cobblestone walls in the pictures.
oh so wonderful to read a part of your holiday celebration. And to think, another one beckons! I'll be staying tuned.
xoxo
SOMETHING NASTY IN THE WOODSHED!!
great. oh and lovely recounting as ever.....
it is strange to have lost thanksgiving with the move east, although we did have a sort of spanish/catalan thanksgiving in the cafeteria, yum...not ;)
Post a Comment