So the world turned another round and Thanksgiving is upon me once more. A day of feasting, of family and friends, of being thankful for the times we have and for the times we've had.
As always I recall how the family gathered in the past. My father's two brothers, their wives and children, would all gather for our feast - a table covered with so much food that it seemed impossible to be consumed. The brothers would gather around the turkey and ham as they were being carved for the platters, occasionally being sampled by one or another to ensure a consistent quality, or so they claimed.
The feast became and increasing logistic problem as the families grew, necessitating ever larger tables and increasing quantities of food, most of which was digested while lying about in a soporific daze. Eventually, as the children became adults, married, and produced even more family members it became impossible to gather. Death and debility also played a role.
My own brothers began, first with our parents and then without, to gather our families to continue the tradition. This did not last, owing to the dispersal of members across the country and the difficulty of coordinated travel for a single gathering. The pattern established by our parents seemed to be repeating down the years.
This year we share Thanksgiving with my nephews and their families since my own children gather at Christmas time instead. As we sit at the table I will look across the corn, mashed potatoes, turkey or ham, and remember the sage words of advice my father gave to me years ago at one of the earliest Thanksgivings I can remember.
"There's too much good stuff here, don't waste your appetite on the rolls."
As always I recall how the family gathered in the past. My father's two brothers, their wives and children, would all gather for our feast - a table covered with so much food that it seemed impossible to be consumed. The brothers would gather around the turkey and ham as they were being carved for the platters, occasionally being sampled by one or another to ensure a consistent quality, or so they claimed.
The feast became and increasing logistic problem as the families grew, necessitating ever larger tables and increasing quantities of food, most of which was digested while lying about in a soporific daze. Eventually, as the children became adults, married, and produced even more family members it became impossible to gather. Death and debility also played a role.
My own brothers began, first with our parents and then without, to gather our families to continue the tradition. This did not last, owing to the dispersal of members across the country and the difficulty of coordinated travel for a single gathering. The pattern established by our parents seemed to be repeating down the years.
This year we share Thanksgiving with my nephews and their families since my own children gather at Christmas time instead. As we sit at the table I will look across the corn, mashed potatoes, turkey or ham, and remember the sage words of advice my father gave to me years ago at one of the earliest Thanksgivings I can remember.
"There's too much good stuff here, don't waste your appetite on the rolls."
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