The last time I was with both my parents and some of my siblings (Bri and Kev were there, Jen was…away at school?) for Thanksgiving was on Congress Circle in Anchorage. Based on my vague recollection, it would have been 1989 and for some reason that year my parents decided to spend the holiday in the same room.
My dad left when I was 5, which isn’t as dramatic as it sounds by a long shot, but fundamentally meant that the folks had little to say to each other for most of my life and it was one of a handful of times I can remember them tolerating each other when I was a teenager.
I remember both my dad and Brian had on red shirts (dad’s was a tight fitting flannel with pearl snaps on the chest pockets and Bri’s was a sweater with an oxford underneath), and that Kevin had recently been in a fight and drawn an elephant face on the top of his hand, making his swollen knuckle and middle finger into a trunk for the wee beast. This also added great flair when he’d attempt to flip me a covert bird over the stuffing.
It was both awkward and natural, and the last Thanksgiving I’d spend with what can only loosely be described as my nuclear family - since we were sans Jennifer - and they were both gone by the time I was 24.
I can’t remember any Thanksgivings with all of us - whether that’s because I was too young to remember or because I just didn’t commit them to memory because I didn’t realize their importance is anyones guess. Jen will probably correct me and fill in the gaps, since that’s what big sisters do.
In the years since, I’ve spent the holiday with friends, with friends families, with my own extended family, and trotting around foreign countries in an attempt to avoid the pity invites to sit around the table with a family that doesn’t belong to me.
This year, The Mc and I are headed to south Georgia and the home his granddaddy built with love and brawn, where his mother and her sister still live. There will be a dozen of us in the tiny white farm house with ceilings and doorways that allow clearance for Kareem Abdul Jamal Jabbar: me, The Mc, his momma, her sister, The Mc’s sister, her husband, their two kids, his momma’s sisters son, his wife, their son and The Mc’s half brother.
We’ll be staying elsewhere (more on this when I’m back and attempt the first entry for the writing project), but spending most of the time at the farm cooking, laughing, drinking excessively and getting to know each other better. We’re also packing the bikes, the camera, some knitting and some books, because with the farm buzzing like a hive that’s been kicked, I’ll need projects and distractions to keep my anxiety attacks at bay.
That said, I’ll be off line until next week but before I go I want to say this: I’m thankful for you.
I’m thankful for each of you for reading every day (or every third day) and reaching back when it strikes you. I’m thankful for our connection, and for the ability to make it. I’m thankful I live in a country where I have the opportunity to write for pleasure and the freedom to play on the interwebs and meet wonderful new amazing people. I’m thankful for my health and the health of those I love. I’m thankful for The Mc, his infinite patience, his wit and his rock solid abs. I’m thankful for this journey, wherever it leads; and that you decided to come along for the ride.
Wishing you and yours all the best this Thanksgiving.
Your mushyblogwritingpicturetakingtreehuggingspiritualadventurerfriend,
P.S. Kissy boo!
I write, you read. It's a clean and simple relationship.