My Mother on Thanksgiving

In this post, I'd like to give voice to my mother, Muriel Hand, who died on December 21, 2002. 

Ask anyone of my siblings and me what our favorite holiday is, and we will all answer, "Thanksgiving!" We love Thanksgiving for many reasons, but it was our mother, Muriel Hand, and our Grandmother, Elizabeth Hand, who first passed on their love of this holiday to us. We can't help it. It is in our DNA!

Before her death, our mother left us a great gift. She wrote down her memories of our family. I edited them for her, but they are her memories in her words. It has been said that when a person dies, an entire library burns down, as well. I believe that. Balzac said that in each man's life, there is a great novel. I believe that, too. Most of us, however, are not great writers like Balzac and would write something closer to a cliche ridden soap opera than a great novel. Our mother did not write a great novel, but she did write her memories of our family.

Every family has its legends and myths, and ours is no different. It doesn't matter to me, though, how much of what our mother remembers is actually objectively true. What matters to me is that she was so dedicated to the idea of family and loved us so much that she took the time to preserve our family history for us and for future generations, as yet unborn grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Family, is, after all, exactly what Thanksgiving is all about. Our mother's memories are part and parcel of our own collective memory of our family. It is our mother's story. It is our story. And it is the story of future generations that my siblings, Robin, Sherry, Mark and I will never know.

As a tribute to our mother and to the holiday, I share her memories of Thanksgiving.

These memories would not be complete without a memory about Thanksgiving.

To Mama, Thanksgiving was THE Family Holiday. This was from her heritage of Poppy, (our maternal Great-Great-Grandfather), his wife, Bessie, and Cammy,(our maternal Great-Grandmother). In their family customs, going home to grandmother's for Thanksgiving was everything. It was the day that the whole family gathered. If you weren't there, you were very ill or not among the living anymore.

Mama lived the old Currier and Ives print, "Going Home to Grandmother's House, " as well as the song, "Over the Hills and through the Woods to Grandmother's House We Go." She used to ride in a horse drawn sleigh over the hills covered with snow, as did Cammy. In the barn was a huge sleigh- at least it was huge to me. It was red velvet with upholstery, tacks of brass and shiny. It had a harness hanging on it with sleigh bells. It seated two in the front and four in the back. Poppy used to keep it swept and brushed, and he waxed and polished the sleigh rails. Cammy and Mama both told me tales about riding in the snow with Poppy driving and how much fun it was to glide through the early evening over the snowy roads. So, she lived the old Currier and Ives Thanksgiving picture, and it was a delightful memory to her.

I remember on Thanksgiving, Dad and Poppy would bring in the four horses they had built and then put clean planks of lumber, that they had grooved, to fit into one another to form a huge table. Mama and Cammy would then put clean white table cloths, that they had made, on the table. There were always colorful gourds and autumn leaves in a centerpiece that Mama would make. She was very artistic.

Back in those early days we had hobos on the roads all the time. They were comparable to the street people of this day and time. They were men, who had lost their jobs because of the Stock Market Crash and the Great Depression. They were not bad men but just men who needed help. They would stop at houses and ask for a day's work doing whatever the people might have them do in return for some food and maybe a place to sleep in the barn. Also, in those times, the Church would have orphans and eldery people, who were alone with no place to go for the holiday.

Our table was always full. One of the adults would go out and bring in passing men and also have the Church send children and elder people who needed a place to spend the holiday. Our family always believed that it wasn't good enough to have food for ourselves but the holiday only meant something when it was shared with other people, who needed a friendly place to be for awhile.

Mama absolutely loved Thanksgiving! It was so important that we share it with one another and during the War, we always had servicemen from the Gloucester Naval Base. At Thanksgiving, our home was always a happy place filled with people we knew and those we made our friends.

I remember one Thanksgiving Day, Dad and Poppy had invited in four of the men who walked the roads searching for food and work. Ralph, (our uncle), and I were complaining because we couldn't eat any more and we wanted to, because everything tasted so good. Poppy, with a straight face, told us our legs were hollow and if we ran around the house a few times, we would be able to eat more, and even have room for dessert. You know what? We ran around the house, and we did have plenty of room for dessert!

It would be pretty cold this time of year, and Cammy used to take the ice from the milk bottles. The caps were paper back the, and when the milk froze, this large column of ice, mostly cream, would pop up out of the bottle. I can't remember how she did it, but she would take the ice caps and blend it with sugar and vanilla and probably something else. But it was heavenly, and we loved it! Of course, there were pies. We grew all these berries and, of course, pumpkins, but I remember with relish this frozen cream and milk. Cammy had so many recipes. She was a great cook, as was Poppy. Mama could cook, but she really didn't like it much. She had one claim to fame, a chocolate cake that was really super- real fudgy, and we loved it!

When Cammy and Poppy died, Mama still had Thanksgiving in her heart, and she never wanted to have this holiday without her family around her. As she grew older, Ralph would have it one year, and I would have it the next. But it was always for Mama. She felt it was the family day and that Christmas was for each of us and our families. She and Daddy visited each of our homes on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.This is the extended family we shared Thanksgiving with the entire time we were growing up. Nanny, Ada, Aunt Sis, Uncle Bub, and cousins, Rick and Rob. I wish I had a picture of all of us at Thanksgiving, but I do not. Soon, I'll upload a picture of Poppy and Cammy.Our Grandmother, so full of joie de vivre, on a beach in Salt Lake City.Mom and Uncle Bubby at Christmas time circa 1964.Mom, Uncle Bub, Poppy, Cammy and Nanny. Mom loved Poppy tremendously, and in her memoir about our family, she dedicated a separate chapter to him. I might type it into a note. He was quite a man!The only picture I am aware of that includes our beloved grandparents and all the cousins, with whom we celebrated every Thanksgiving the entire time we were growing up. Nanny is holding our baby brother, Mark, and Ada is holding Rick's baby brother, Rob, and our newest cousin.