Sunday, November 26, 2017
THANKS FOR THINGS SHARED AT THANKSGIVING
by Chris Goff
Thanksgiving―traditionally a holiday to celebrate the harvest―has
become a time to celebrate family and friends, to over indulge in all things
yummy, and the day before Black Friday. In our home, we gather around the
table, make a toast to those present, those who couldn't be present and those
who might be present. Then, once the turkey, mashed potatoes, roasted Brussels
sprouts and cranberries have been passed around, we follow suit with each of us
stating that which we are most thankful for this year.
A variety of things are shared.
We are thankful for jobs, opportunities for travel, business and creative
successes, delicious food, new houses. We are thankful for all of the blessings
in our lives―things we have and are acutely aware that others don't, such as
healthcare, education, transportation, food and warm clothes. We celebrate
those among us who have devoted their lives to making life better for others
and reaffirm our commitment to do more for others in the coming year.
This is also when all the
stories come out. Friends and family top the list of things for which we’re all
thankful, so it's only natural it’s they who anchor the stories.
My kids especially love stories
about them, or about me or their dad. I was raised an only child (my dad had
two sons from his second marriage, but not until I was in my twenties). That meant
there was no one to blame when things went wrong. One day, I was sitting on my
mother's velvet settee while she talked on the phone. When she hung up the
phone, I climbed down to reveal a large wet spot on the velvet. My mother
tilted her head and said, "Christy!" And like any two year-old worth
her metal, I looked horrified, pointed to the family pet and said, "Vicky,
naughty dog!"
Then there was the time I was speeding through Soda Creek, taking
my youngest to preschool. She was four. The day before a sheriff’s deputy had
been at school for safety day, so Addie was less than approving that I was driving
ten miles an hour over the speed limit on the narrow winding road. So was the
deputy parked in the hidden driveway. He pulled me over and I was resigned to
getting a ticket, when I heard Addie from the backseat. She’d climbed out of
her car seat, rolled down the window and was waving at the approaching officer
yelling, “Officer Joe, Officer Joe.” Then she broke into yesterday’s safety
song, “Buckle up for safety, buckle up. Buckle up for safety, better buckle up.”
Officer Joe (who wasn’t) and I both tried not to laugh as he gave me a warning
Stories of funerals are not
usually funny, but I have a weird family. When my mother died, she wanted
to be cremated. My grandmother was horrified. In fact, she was so upset, we
lied. We had Gram pick out a casket and buy a cemetery plot, then we spent
$6,000 burying an empty casket. As far as anyone knows, Gram never found out.
So it was only fitting that when my father died, my brothers decided we’d have
a Viking funeral.
My dad was a Scot, and descended from Vikings, so it seemed
fitting. But, to set the stage, you have to know that when it came to the sea
nothing ever came easy with my dad. He lived in Maine the last twenty years of
his life, and he'd sailed the waters off the coast every summer since he was
fifteen. Still, there were many stories of his misadventures.
There was the time he tried a new way of keeping the bottom of the
boat clean. Rather than use bottom paint, he’d read somewhere that Desitin (baby
rash cream) smeared on the bottom of the boat would keep the barnacle growth at
bay. He put his kids and grandkids to work, and we documented the process. If
it worked, we figured we could pitch a great commercial. Not! Instead of
repelling the barnacles, it actually attracted them. There was so much growth
that when they pulled the boat from the water that year, it slipped off the
sling.
There was the time we grounded on Otter Island. He’d pulled the
boat to shore so he and the boys could climb off and pee and the tide had gone
out. That meant we had to wait for the tide to come back in. Which wouldn’t
have been so bad, except, while Dad has gotten the wok aboard, he’d forgotten
the cooler with the food and drink. Fortunately a yacht happened by (sheer luck
in those waters) and I hitched a ride back to Friendship with the three
grandkids and picked up the cooler and a few sleeping bags. The yacht’s captain
(a bit incredulous) then delivered me back to the boat. His donation (in
addition to the ride) was to leave us with a two gallon jug of rum punch. Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum.
Naturally there were more stories, more laughter, and then the evening
ended with rousing game of Pictionary. That’s when someone remembered the best
drawing ever. The word was vineyard, and Addie, the youngest sibling, drew a
circle inside a circle. One grape. To everyone’s disbelief, the word was
guessed correctly.
I’d love to hear some of your family stories if you’re willing to
share. Happy Thanksgiving!
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O, Lord, Chris, that was a delicious series of family stories. And of course since I live in Maine now, they were all the more personal to me. What a creative, vital family you had and have. Thanks(giving) for the tales!
ReplyDeleteLoved the family stories (especially being stopped for speeding when your young daughter intervened with the officer!) Yes, this entire long weekend is indeed a time to reflect and be ever so grateful for all of our blessings. Thanks for sharing your memories.
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