Thanksgiving Eve

Wednesday, November 21, 2012


When I was a girl I often spent Thanksgiving Eve at my grandparent's house. Grandma would bring out a giant bowl and we'd begin the task of breaking up loaves of Wonder Bread into small little pieces. The bowl would fill with a snowy mound and I knew this was the beginning stage of Thanksgiving stuffing. Soon the downstairs tables would burst with 30 or so family members, each bringing dishes to celebrate the abundance of the season. Grandpa would break out his electric carving knife and station himself in the corner seeing to the giant bird. Hand-painted little wooden turkey place card holders would be set out and swapped half a dozen times before we finally settled in. Invariably, after the meal was over, the living room would swell to accommodate relaxed football watchers and the pies would be set out downstairs with a bowl of homemade whipped cream. But for that one night, before the house expanded with warm smiles, I got grandma all to myself. Those simple moments created special memories that linger with me today. Her hands, hands that have lived a lifetime, held new babies, created meals and offered hugs, snapped images on dozens of cameras and always made certain the cookie jar was full, reflect a life of service. And so today, on Thanksgiving Eve, I'm beyond grateful for hands that took the time to break bread with one little girl so long ago.   

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