Thursday, November 28, 2013

An Unconventional Feast

The year my father died my mother bought a cut-up turkey. Actually the butcher reassembled the turkey, so that it looked ready for the traditional slicing. That year we celebrated one week late. The week of Thanksgiving he was in the hospital.

My mother served all the traditional fixings including my father's favorite dessert—apple pie—just one week late.

Yesterday, a dismal rainy day, was our day of turkey and today we celebrated a non-traditional Thanksgiving at Legal Sea Food. Unless you made a reservation, at least a week ago, no times were available until 7:30 pm.

While we studied the menu we wondered who went out for Thanksgiving. Who bucked the trend of traveling, of a large family affair, of hours in the kitchen, of the American Thanksgiving.

Tables filled up with a variety of permutations—from single people seated at the bar to large groups. And every age—a toddler standing on his chair, college age students, adults from twenties up. We looked like a cross-section— a bit of this and a bit of that.

My family is spread out—literally all over the atlas. Making a phone call often means figuring out when to call because of a six hour or twelve hour time difference.

I sometimes wonder what it would look like if we all managed to be in the same time zone. My table—even when extended—couldn't fit fourteen people. Even counting the collapsable metal chairs I can't round up fourteen chairs appropriate for dining.

But that's all unrealistic—some paths have been covered by undergrowth and brambles.

So on this Thanksgiving I release into the prayer highway thoughts for those twelve who celebrate elsewhere. Perhaps someday our tracks will cross at the same time and we will break bread together. When that happens it will be a day of Thanksgiving.

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