Thanksgiving week

Many people on FB have been posting a daily report for why/whom/what they are thankful. I did not do that. I got on board too late and so decided I wouldn't even begin. But I am thankful. I have had a wonderful week of organizing/cleaning and then doing absolutely nothing. I feel a little guilty about the "doing nothing part," but school starts back Monday and the holiday busy-ness will be upon us, so I am enjoying these lazy days.

My husband, son, oldest daughter with her 3 kids, and I spent Thanksgiving Day at my sister's home in Stone Mountain GA. We had a lovely day. My sister, her husband and her youngest son were our hosts. My middle child and her husband could not come from OK for Thanksgiving since they will be here for Christmas nor could my sister's oldest son and his wife be there from NY since they are flying down in December. The couples were missed (my oldest daughter's hubby had to miss as well due to work related reasons), but the small intimate group of 10 was still wonderful. My nephew really loves children and my grandkids loved him and his ukelele and piano playing a lot.

He graciously serenaded his mom and me with a song he had written about our mother. My sister called her Mama, I called her (and spelled it as) Momma and my nephew called her Mimi and sometimes Meems. Her name was Martha June Graham Smith - June to her friends and family. His song "Too Soon, June" laments her passing at the early age of 74.

It's our belief that her purpose for living was taken away when my father died just a year and a half before she did. We all still miss her - her death impacted us greatly. My sister and I have a lot of guilt that we still work through about that weekend prior to her death on Monday, January 15, 2007 (but that's another story). My nephew's song was so touching. Thanks, dear boy!

I regret I do not know how to publish photos on this blog. My sister who is quite the photo journalist took a great many picutres of our special day and they would be the perfect ending to my Thanksgiving Day blog. My 3 grandkids were dressed as a Pilgrim Girl (7 yr. old), a Native American boy (4 yr. old) , and a little Pilgrim boy (17 mos.). The food was great, the fellowship sweet, and the only drawback were those missing from the table.

My sister always reads a poem at Thanksgiving which has us all in tears by the end. Her rendition is personalized for our family (collards, biscuits, cornbread for our southern fare although my brother-in-law is a New Englander so mashed potatoes are a mainstay). The reading was especially touching this year. My dad would have celebrated his 87th birthday on November 24.

I pass along this copy that I found. I hope it brings warm Thanksgiving memories to the remainder of your holiday week. Sort of like "leftovers for the soul." God bless!

A Thanksgiving Poem
adapted by Nick Brown from "Meatballs"
a poem by Garrison Keillor (c)1982

O turkey, lovely turkey, that wafts its smell our way!
Another golden turkey on this Thanksgiving Day
Adorns a serving platter upon a walnut stand.
We thank Thee for this bounty from Thine and Grandma's hand.

O lovely mashed potatoes near which the turkey floats
On great brown lakes of gravy poured from the gravy boats.
It speaks to us of richness, of blessing and good cheer.
When spoken to by turkey, I love the words I hear.

O spinach, peas, and onions,
O beets, beet greens, and chard,
Fresh from Grandma's garden beyond the cool green yard.
Pools of green lie steaming in pale blue china bowls
Around a silver wedding vase of yellow marigolds.

O lovely sweet cream butter,
O lovely bread we break
That Grandma made this morning before I was awake.
No recipe, no measure. but made with love and care.
The smell of yeast and flour still lingers in the air.

Oh, cousins, aunts, and uncles, who shares this earthly store,
Gathered round this table in nineteen sixty four.
Eyes closed and hands are folded as Grandpa says the grace.
Mine alone are open, I look in every face.
I see your lovely faces, together on that day
Passing into darkness, the voices fade away.
I close my eyes to hold you, to bring you back to me.
Passing, slowly passing into a memory.

Another fine Thanksgiving, another table set.
Children take the places of folk they never met.
A little boy is sitting in Grandma's old oak chair.
I feel his eyes upon me as I now say the prayer.
At this Thanksgiving table, time is passing by.
Child, I know you see it in our faces.
So do I.

But thank the Lord for giving us this holiday again.
And now, please pass the turkey.
Let's eat.
Amen.