grandma and grandpa

It was a modest home, just right for the single-floor lifestyle of two folks in their 70s … 80s … 90s. My grandparents were in that house more than 40 years. This is only the second November that won’t see it filled with relatives Saturday. Every year, since the dawn of time it seems, Grandma and Grandpa had the family over on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. It allowed for Thanksgiving with all the in-laws as well as a chance for all of us … whether 15 or 35 … to pile in for some time together.

The table stretched nearly the length of the house. It’s a rare memory of a kids’ table at Gram’s place. She always wanted everyone together. Sometimes we were sitting so close to each other I had to lean down to my fork because there was no space to lift my arm! It was hot in there. It was loud in there. The years spent there are a blur of one big holiday memory.

The buffet was always the same, set up in the same place, served on the same dishes … some of which are mine now. As she aged a switch was made to food everyone brought in. Her finery was replaced with Chinette and nobody cared. The women dutifully put out the tablecloths and the coasters under Grandma’s supervision. The men dutifully removed the trash from a busy kitchen so Grandpa wouldn’t try to navigate the crowd with his walker. I often think how fitting it was that her kitchen actually sat in the center of her house.

I think that way because I really don’t remember the eating. There are little flashes, like the year that proud old Illinois farm girl insisted I taste minced meat pie. Out of respect I did. I knew I’d be in trouble if I spit it out. Needless to say, I’ve never touched the stuff again. Cauliflower with cheese sauce. Those tiny cereal boxes she would arrange so carefully for her breakfast buffet. Why did Frosted Flakes taste better out of that cool little box?

Then there was the time at that house-long table that the over-21 cousins casually allowed the teen-ager some wine. The parents (sitting at the same table but literally in another room) probably knew. But the teen-ager thought she was getting away with something, just as she had thought so years earlier when her cousins would eat what she didn't like or feed it to their dogs.

Mostly when I think about it though, I think about collecting pine cones in their yard, or being allowed to stay up and watch Saturday Night Live for the first time, or meeting my cousin’s husband for the first time, or Scrabble games, or sitting with a silver Schnauzer puppy asleep in my lap and learning about the work that goes into breeding and raising puppies.

When Grandma or Grandpa said it was time to eat we all knew what that meant. The TV went off (or the sound was turned down ... no mute in those days!) and we would all squeeze into the kitchen. More often than not a prayer was said before the line would form. Plates would be filled, as would the chairs at the house-long table.

As you settle in to savor your day’s work Thursday I hope the food fades into the background for you, too. So what if Uncle John is complaining the turkey is dry. He’s laughing at that same story he and your dad always tell about the year your grandma dropped the bird and the dog got to it. So Aunt Shelly is bemoaning the absence of can-shaped cranberries. She had three helpings of your sweet potatoes while telling your mom all about her cruise last month. And so it will go across the country. Tensions will rise and fall. Buffets will be set and cleared. Trash cans will fill and be emptied.

I hope the company you’ve gathered fills your house with the sights and sounds of the holidays. The laughter … the stories you know by heart … the new stories you'll tell again ... the football commentary … the children bobbing in and out of a forest of knees … the familiar debate that ends with the familiar refill, all parties agreeing to disagree … the ringing in you ears once all have called it a day … the sigh you release as the last dish is dried … the creak in your bones as you put your feet up in the silence, satisfied not only in the making of a meal, but in the making of memories.

The table is set. Enjoy your day.