Perfect Memories on an Imperfect Holiday
by Drew Holmes
It’s almost 11:00 pm and the boys are finally down for the night. I’m sitting on the bed at the Airbnb and have cracked open my laptop to check emails and catch up on work. The time difference works in our favor, being two hours earlier than usual but the day was still long, nonetheless.
Thanksgiving in Massachusetts is different. The crunch underfoot means the trees have just let go of their leaves, but the warm days scattered among the cold show the bluster of winter has not yet set in. There is transition in the air. It is the same anticipation as spring but in reverse. Not for long, warm days but crisp, bundled-up nights.
My dad has always cooked the meal for big family gatherings but growing up his mother baked pies for every special occasion. Weeks before a holiday she would ask me what kind I wanted and, whether it was apple or cherry, she would have one in tow upon arrival at our house. Grandma Ann passed years ago, but I can still remember that perfectly flaky crust accompanied by a full body hug and kiss.
I was a picky eater in those days, preferring the “paler shade of neutral” family of foods which include such staples as dinner rolls, mashed potatoes, and corn. Turkey and sometimes cranberry sauce found space on my plate, but anything too green or vegetable-y was evicted before being allowed to establish residence.
The kitchen was a steady stream of food with sides and appetizers pouring out at breakneck speed. Dad would get up early to start the process, long before the Macy’s Parade began on TV and wouldn’t stop until long after kickoff of the Detroit Lions game. Sometime during the Dallas Cowboy’s game, dad would find time to relax on the couch, loudly “resting his eyes” with the cocker spaniel on his lap.
These are the kinds of memories I want for my boys, to know what a special holiday in a special place can be.
That is why we rose before the sun to catch a plane, Timothy complaining loudly that the pilot had missed the airport when he passed Boston to approach Logan Airport from the water. That is why we rented a car and an apartment and found new bedtime and morning routines if only for a few days.
We got to experience the Enchanted Village, Polar Express ride, and tubing hill, all at a local furniture store. We made our pilgrimage to Skinner’s Sugar House, an East Bridgewater candy staple for longer than I can remember. We felt rocky sand underfoot at Plymouth Beach, dined on the water at the original Lobster Hut, and visited the historic site where we honor our country’s humble beginnings, Plymouth Rock.
This year’s meal will be hosted by my folks, dad in the kitchen as usual. There will be a turkey and, though no one has told me, dinner rolls and mashed potatoes are surely on the menu. I do not know if there will be pie, or who might be making desserts, but I do know I will be bringing two appetizers. A new family tradition of sorts.
We will watch the parade, then the dog show, and enjoy a feast of celebration together. It will be my boys’ turn to be the picky eaters, and mine to accommodate as best as possible, macaroni already on the menu as a failsafe dining option. Dad will still make too much food and watch the Dallas Cowboys with his eyes closed and a dog on his lap.
And that is okay. There are no perfect holidays, no perfect gatherings. But there are perfect memories. No matter what happens these memories will be the ones we all look back on and cherish.
And for that I give thanks.