This story has been savorying in my true memories back home.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dad~” I said in my morning voice, stretching to listen for the same expressions of hope carrying throughout the house.
“Is the coffee ready?” Pause. “Is Mom up yet?” The laughter and pitter-patter heard above our heads were our early awakening to another holiday season, Thanksgiving Day . . . “VanKooten Style”
There was a bittersweet sensation of joy sounding off in those little feet. The repeated sounds of flushing toilets and the old oil burner belching with a bang took on a different perspective when you had to think about thankfulness.
“You’re not old enough to drink coffee, “dad said. Recollecting, I remember thinking, “This is a day of thanks, regardless”
Treasured moments of silence before 6:00am soon disappeared into the excitement that stirred at our morning table. Some of us decided to eat a light breakfast, which usually consisted of graham crackers and milk, while others boasted that they were “man enough” to skip it all together in order to save room for the big traditional meal at 3:00~. Those same “men” were also the ones that ran quickly outside to avoid having to help clean the house. The bear will soon be on the war path.
To recapture the eagerness among the family, feeling the warmth, we all nestled in for another change of seasons, starting today. It always seemed like Santa was a lot closer by now YEAH
Our farmhouse at 100 Lindbergh Avenue was once called “Woodlane Farm.” Halfway down the lane was our grandparents’ home. Thousands upon thousands of broken corn stalks surrounded our house, bowing down in a grateful glory of harvest. A lucky bunch would always adorn our front door.
“When will I be old enough to drink coffee? I’m nearly 15 ”
“No, you just turned 14, last month as I recall. Aren’t you one of our October babies?”
One great big maple tree stood proudly in front of the big bay window and if you sat at the kitchen table, drinking your morning coffee, you could almost hear it say, “Good Morning ” On this particular morning, I paid close attention to the changing leaves, barely hanging onto their branches around this time of year. Here they await the first signs of winter when the cool wind of a wintry beast will dismiss them with one sigh of relief. I continued staring, reflecting moments of this years’ past, wishing I had some Gevalia’ right now. I wonder too, Will mom let me sit in the dining room this year with all the “adults,” and eat off the “special occasion” china? I continued daydreaming; now contemplating what it is I am especially thankful for this year. Hmm?
I see her branches reaching out, reminiscent into the arms of my mother and how hers always seemed to find a baby to cradle. “Is the baby up yet?” How was it, that my thoughts would always, somehow, bringing me to my next question said out loud, and usually it had something to do with a baby? I really think I just needed a caffeine fix
As the thoughts passed and the purpose of the day enlightened me I recalled being so thankful for my mothers’ love of a child and today, I am thankful for how her ways have become mine.
Still lazing out the window, I envisaged the swan song in just about every tree and my eyes gave careful attention to its showy display of autumn. Even the apples are gone, I noticed. Oh how their fall was so bittersweet too.
It’s almost 7:00am and Nana will be here soon.
Thinking turkey . . . talking turkey, and washing the turkey, especially, was the highlight of our Thanksgiving Day morning. This feat was our grandmothers’ job. But, right this minute Mom and Dad, and all 14 kids are skittering around with a mission of hope, trying to present our own displays of pride. Just like those trees out there, we were looking for our grandmothers’ praise Hey? We cleaned our rooms. Nana mentioned how the house gave flavor to all her familiar dishes, even though they were still in the very early stages of doneness.
By this time, I knew mom had her hands full in the kitchen so the little ones were my responsibility and really, I couldn’t see how this was such a chore at all. But, I’ll bet it might have been easier with that morning cup of coffee, Dad~
Our Nana came from the old school, so to speak, from a small town called Beldune River, in New Brunswick, Canada. Her English upbringing had a way of making her seem mean and stern but her Scottish perception had our best interests in mind. And, even if you really didn’t want to hear what Nana had to say, you knew that you probably needed too. Unconsciously we admired her organizational abilities and die-hard consistencies, especially when comparing her home with ours. She and Pop-Pops’ house of two was no comparison to Mom, Dad and 16 children with five still in diapers. It was hevelled vs.disheveled, no matter how much help was hired. Come to think of it though, we had many opportunities to spend the night with her and Pop-Pop, looking around and realizing everything had a place and everything in its place.
I continue to treasure each and every memory, tucking them away, mulling them about, what was it like with our Nana and gram pa Gray on that old dairy farm? Remember how far she told us she had to walk to school, in a waist high snow no less? I especially enjoyed her experiences of a one room school house? Remember the story about her rival cousin, Bella, and how she always emulated Nana? Boy, did that make her mad. I can still hear her telling me proudly how once, she brought poor Bella to tears during a final dissertation before the class. “Golly gee Bee, where’d ya get dat a der spoon?”
Screaming out another summers end and a winter beginning, the leaves of fiery red and reflecting yellows brightened up the smokey skies of Pennsylvania that morning, revealing the sense of an end to yet another growing season. Pop-Pops’ car could now be seen driving down the lane toward the house.
“Nana’s here, Nana’s here,” we all yelled out in unison. “Here, You can have one little sip, your grandmothers coming in, . . . are the babies changed?”, my father offered then asked.
Pop- Pop was just dropping her off for now, and then heading back home for as much peace as he can possibly get away with. Nana was instructing him to return no later than noon to make his famous creamed onions. Yuk I hated them then but, boy , How I miss them now Once my grandfather confided in me with his little secret on how to peel onions without shedding a tear “You have to hold your breath or better yet, breathe through your mouth if you must,” he said modestly, “and hold a tiny piece of the raw onion in your mouth as you chop.”
Anyway, Nana’s pacing up the sidewalk now, announcing the holiday preparations for the day, and all the long, being followed by those so-called lazy “men,” my brothers, who only want to help her spank that turkey. She told us the story of the “Little Red Hen” and then made sure we all understood proper hand washing techniques before spanking that bad boy.
“Happy Thanksgiving Nana, how a bout’ a cup of Kimmy tea?” That was one way to get her to soften up any time of the year. To be extra sure, try giving her something sweet to go with it.
One by one, we lined up, anticipating that one swat we were let to give that headless bird.
“Give it your best shot ”, She instructed us.
The oven is just about preheated and the bird’s jam-packed with potato and a celery stuffing seasoned with mom’s special giblet gravy. Our turkey is finally ready to face its sole purpose in life, after death.
So, over the river and through the woods, it’s off to church we Go
“Last one in the car is a rotten egg, but first one eats it ”, dad chimed.
Summer days, green leaves, blue skies, and even Thanksgiving turkeys yield their render but two days of mass in one week bored me to death. Mom and Nana stayed home baking the pies in the extra oven of our Ute-liner motor home, which dad always parked by the barn.
“Sure is a good thing we have that extra oven, honey ,” Dad revealed, as if looking for acceptance for his outrageous purchase. I’m sure they looked forward to the calm before the storm sipping on that second cup of tea, and off we went.
Pumpkin pie with whipped cream, mince meat, plum pudding with hard sauce, apple pie ala vanilla ice cream, cherry pie latticed to perfection and, our cherished Ms. Lucys’, sweet potato pie heaped with coconut shavings, was prepared well in advance of her vacation to Jamaica. Lucy always left for her own family gatherings on the holidays.
Returning home from an over packed church, an hour later than the usual regular mass days, we could smell the aromas of this year’s Thanksgiving table awaiting all
It tantalized us from at least 200 yards away. Soon we could overhear the hungry growls coming from our stomachs. “Is it ready yet?” we all cried. The mashed potatoes were all mashed, the “Zesty Carrots” were zested, the pearl white onions were pearled, and the creamy corn topped with breadcrumbs could be seen steaming alongside the sweet potato balls with the marshmallow and walnuts oozing out the sides. The butternut squash and the garden fresh green beans sprinkled with almonds, left somewhat crispy, were, “all time favorites ”. There were cranberries with sauce, cranberries without sauce, stuffed celery and pickled relish. Eggnog was a must. Brown bread with apple butter, spiced apple cider, and the braided bread with its shiny egg white glaze, a center stage, was tradition. A picture perfect adornment of a thankful year presented Van Kooten style. By this time we were so sick of snacking on phefferneuse cookies and those bitter bowls of nuts, we use to crack open just for the fun of it. The whole family crowded around the t.v. to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade proceeding down, even the more crowded, 42nd street, when finally we saw Santa waving at the crowd. Mom just rang the dinner bell,
“Come and get it,” She exclaimed with pride. The table was perfect, as was dad’s daily prayer, “Smaeka la gaetta, mijn kinderen ” or in other words, “Eat well my children,” he recited in Dutch.
Now, if you were a lefty you were guaranteed at least one end on the bench while the rest of us were squished together. I really hope mom will let me sit in the dining room with all the grownups this year, and now is about time she’d make that announcement. Who sits where? ;... seemed so important those days. Oohs, Uhs and Awes followed. The famous hat was passed around to pick names for Christmas and life was good.
Well, I guess I’m sitting with all the kids again, but from where I was sitting this year, I could hear all the conversations and a cornucopia of here say from the dining room. Smiles.
The meal was absolutely divine and the desserts were even better, especially when coupled with, That great cup of “daddy coffee,” I was allowed to have. I believe it was a peace offering for still having to sit at the “kiddie table ”
Another year has almost come to an end as I hold onto those forever memories of,
Thanksgiving Day, “Van Kooten” style


The End

copyright 2006