Happy Thanksgiving

Sometimes it’s a struggle to write this. Not because I don’t have anything to be thankful for, or because two days after the clocks were set back an hour this month, the calendar flipped back, too. How far back remains to be seen.

But mostly because Thanksgiving reminds me of my Mom, who’s been gone 12 years and would’ve turned 100 this year. Thanksgiving at my house was legendary because of the food, the pies, the cookies, and how many people were around the house. I took it for granted when I was a kid and now I miss it terribly.

And I miss being able to ask my Mom what it was like when things were like tough. I’ve felt this way for nearly five years. She grew up on a small farm in north-central Massachusetts in the 1930s, the second-oldest of seven children, practically running the house because my grandparents did what many immigrants did: worked as many “side hustles” as they could.

And yet I think I know what she would have said: “You just have to make it through the night,” referring to her favorite Kris Kristofferson song. She would hum it off-key (she was one of those rare people both knew she was tone-deaf and freely admitted it) while she sat up in her chair—usually knitting—or puttering in the kitchen.

So now you may better understand the third of my three annual reminders for this post:

    🍗  Stay safe

    🍗  Show some plate discipline

    🍗  Call your mother