Thanksgiving has come and gone. Again. Our second since moving out of the house and on board our sailboat.
One of the challenges of moving onto the boat was how to do the holidays. Our oven doesn't hold the usual 20 lb turkey and I'm not ready to "just get a small turkey breast" as my mother suggested. Someday, yes, someday. But not yet. Last year we borrowed a friend's beach cabin on Anderson Island and went there with my sister and her new Brazilian husband. Sarah was in France so it was Dan, Julia and I. It was nice, yes, but it felt really odd to me. Not my house, not my stuff, nothing familiar, nothing that felt ritualistic. My sister was happy because she was back in the states after nearly 3 years in Brazil. And she had spent quite a bit of time at this cabin in years past and had many memories of happy gatherings. So for her it was a homecoming of sorts - but for me it was baffling. I missed Sarah and kept tripping over myself trying not to run the show, as I am wont to do, or complain, as I am also known to do on occasion... C'mon, Irene - positive attitude! It's not the place, it's not even the food, it's the gathering, the people, the attitude of gratitude.
Our tradition for over 20 years was that Dan would wake early, make the stuffing, stuff the turkey and put it in the oven. At some point, one or both girls would wake and make their way down to the kitchen to keep him company and comfort the poor turkey who Dan would make dance and talk back to them as they assured him that it was okay that we were eating him today. They called it "turkey psychology" and they did it every Thanksgiving. At least that's what they told me because I wasn't there. Thanksgiving morning was my turn to sleep late - a well-earned sleep - my reward for nights on end cooking cranberry sauce, rutabaga, pies, extra stuffing... after shopping and cleaning and inviting and planning. I would wake up to the smell of turkey just starting to brown, smile, roll over, and go back to sleep until it was seared to perfection.
(A quick aside on the rutabagas. If you don't know about these little gems, you should. They are a type of turnip, the type with yellow meat. They are heaven on earth. My mother makes them better than anyone I know, but I am getting closer every year. They have a slightly bitter taste, but we cut it with a potato or two mixed in. Once they are soft - either steamed or pressure-cooked, they get mashed up until they are smooth and seasoned with salt and garlic pepper and butter and - well - I could die just thinking about them. They are always the first leftover we run out of no matter how I double or triple the recipe. Fabulous. Okay - end of aside.)
However, last Thanksgiving, very early - too early (it was still a little dark by my estimation), Dan woke me up and said "Hey I - you should see the sunrise." Once, on a boat trip, when Dan woke me to see the stars, I just pretended to not wake up all the way because I was soooo comfortable. I made some weak little noise and rolled over. He didn't push, but the next day mentioned very gently that it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and I have regretted my refusal to get out of my warm bed ever since. So this morning, I thought I'd better not make THAT mistake again. And what I saw as I walked into the living room and looked out the large picture window was the sunrise that is pictured above on this blog. It literally took my breath away and, as sunrises do, it changed every few minutes and we wrapped ourselves in blankets and moved a couple of chairs to the window and just watched. Just before the sun made its appearance, the tops of the mountains were lined with fire, as though someone had poured gasoline in a thin line just along the top ridges and lit it with a match. And then - pop! - there it was. The sun rose over one crag and the day began.
I realized that we had found a new way to do Thanksgiving. That it doesn't have to be in our house. It just has to be. And wherever, however we do it - as long as we do it with love - and rutabagas - we'll be okay.
This Thanksgiving we house-sat for friends from our old neighborhood. The house was familiar in a way because we had spent so much time there - but again, not my stuff. But it was easier this year. Easier because it was the second year of doing it differently. But guess what? Other than the fact that my daughter was with us again and that just felt so right - I think I liked the sunrise Thanksgiving better. I am beginning to feel more adventurous about holidays and less attached to the one true way. I wonder what we'll do next year.
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