What a wonderful country we have where a day is set aside each year to remember, to consider how blessed we are.
From the pilgrims’ simple beginning to the present day, we are reminded that being thankful on at least one day a year is, as Martha Stewart would say, “a good thing.”
My Sweet William and I drove back our lane to the home of my cousin, Candi May, and her husband, Flavius, today. Hors d’oeuvres were waiting. Families began filling the house with their joyful noises. We missed one precious relative this year, my Uncle Leo Lockard. His death last February leaves his place forever empty. My almost 89-year-old dad and step-mother arrived last. The house bursts with people greeting one another, sampling the snacks, talking and laughing.
We could barely move through the kitchen as we brought in our special food dishes. Each one added to a bountiful buffet.
About 1 pm, it was time for the dinner. My dad prayed, blessed the food, and asked that we all be ready for the Lord’s second coming. It is his theme and heart’s desire that all his family are ready for Christ’s return.
Then the real eating began. We crowded around tables, knees bumping and elbows close so as not to jostle one another. I wonder how we all fit together. We are a diverse group, different personalities and different opinions. The thing that binds us is love, family, and our devotion to each other.
The children got lots of cousin-time, eating all the sweets they could stand. The adults got their fill and settled in for another cup of Flavius’ good, strong coffee.
The dishes were cleared, the leftovers put away for tomorrow’s Hot Browns. We relax, talk, share, and remember.
Bill and I brought the grandchildren home with us to spend the night. Bill began playing the guitar while Ethan accompanied him on the bongo drums. The rhythm was contagious. Soon Elyse and Celeste were dancing around the room.
We wound down by cuddling on the couch and watching Kung Fu Panda, while I typed away at the next blog post.
At movies end, we brushed our teeth, and I tucked the three little/big ones into bed, saying a prayer of thanksgiving over them.
Ethan snuggled in the downstairs bedroom, hugging his daddy’s old pot-bellied bear. With sleepy eyes, he said, “I love Thanksgiving.” And I agree.