About giving thanks & sharing food. . .

When I gave up controlling our family Thanksgiving, I cannot say.

When I took control of Thanksgiving (and other holidays) from my mother is another story.

It began many years before circumstances limited her participation. Whether it was watching public television or collecting cookbooks or sharing time and space with women and men who enjoyed cooking, I started out planning menus.

My mother followed those plans. We had crackling duck one year. We made individual Cornish Game Hens stuffed with grapes for 28 another year. I tried stuffings versus her cornbread dressing and the dressing always won.

We were a good team, my mother and I.

Something happened and taking care of Thanksgiving came too expensive or too stressful or I could not do it without my mother or without complete control and I asked (or told) my sister to host the holiday. That first year, I think I gave her a menu and a shopping list.

To her credit, she did not kill me. She followed the menu.

Convinced that the holiday could not possibly be a success without me, I arrived with too many supplemental dishes.

As I say, she did not kill me and this says volumes about my sister.

My sister Janet choreographs a lovely family Thanksgiving for us.

Without a menu or shopping list from me.

This year, it will be on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Due to the UT / Aggie game, which is going to be on Thanksgiving Day and my sister, an Aggie, has tickets.

So tomorrow, I will choreograph a small Thanksgiving for our mother and brother and my son Nick and his Lady Jane. I like the menu

* Turkey with Lemon Thyme Butter (& gravy)
* Cornbread Dressing
* Yam Casserole with Oranges & Pecans
* Brussel Sprouts
* Cranberry Sauce (my recipe)
* Home Made Yeast Rolls
* Cherry Pie
* Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bread

On Friday, I hope that my sister’s menu will include her incredible carrot soufflé. I know that the day will include family and friends and laughter.

The rest is just dressing. Cornbread, of course.

Something Important I Learned from Debbie Wizig

In this, the second century of my life, I find my mind and curiosity wandering to spaces I have inhabited and the people who shared those spaces.

This evening my thoughts turned to the Wizigs. David and Debbie who shared time and space with me before they shared a last name and came to me via Steven Michael Epstein.

I once brushed my teeth side by side with David Wizig and my friend Carol Lindsey and I believed him to be the very best life had to offer in the category of the male species. One of his best qualities was his praise of Debbie, not then Wizig, and her intelligence.

Debbie was not just intelligent. She was, as is (if her Facebook picture has not been altered) lovely. And, at a young age, wise.

Much of what I know about David and Debbie after our lives no longer converged in the same time and space came to me from Steven Michael Epstein. They graduated from the University of Texas, they emigrated to Israel, they created a daughter named Amira and they came back to Houston.

The last time I saw the Wizigs was with Steven Michael Epstein (who deserves a blog of his own). We went for lunch at the Wizig's home. David was teaching, Debbie's mother was at the house,and Amira had a marvelous collection of Barbie dolls, organized in an old dresser that reminded me of the dresser in my grandmother's room.

I remember that Amira did not want what her mother had fixed to feed the rest of us. I cannot remember if we had tuna fish and Amira wanted macaroni and cheese or if we had something else and Amira wanted tuna fish. I do remember that at some time in our shared time and space, David was a vegetarian.

What I remember about that day is that Debbie fixed Amira something entirely different. Something simple. And when I asked her about it (I was either pregnant or a new mother and curious about all things maternal and nurturing), she replied (something like):

It is just not a big deal. She's happy, she's eating.

I took that lesson with me. Food should never be an issue of power or control. There is always something that is just not a big deal to offer as alternative.

Peace and contentment. A bit more work, but not a big deal.

As an aside, I have always admired the organization of Amira's Barbies and their accessories. . .

Sheets & Other Lasting Relationships

This morning, as I was folding a basket of linens, I came across a pillow case in a faded blue and gold pattern.

I remember exactly when I purchased the set of double sized sheets from Foley’s (aka Macy’s) downtown.

It was when I left my husband, thirty years ago. I remember, because it was then that I began my ritual of changing bed linens when relationships ended.

In spite of its faded condition, the pillow case is quite usable – the fabric is still strong, the stitches still taut and holding the pieces of the case together.

Wondercale No Iron Percale by Springmaid, 65% Polyester, 35% Cotton.

Thirty years, enduring neglect, obsession, casual caretaking, abandonment, years spent in a pile of other linens, forgotten, waiting to be retrieved, recovered, restored.

Like the fabric of strong relationships, the threads of shared spaces and shared experiences still taut and holding people together.

Waiting to be rediscovered, reclaimed and restored.