A Thanksgiving Chicken Memory

This is another reprint of a post from several years ago, with some revisions.

Thanksgiving at Grandma’s house did not include turkey, or if it did, the turkey was quite small and looked just like a chicken.

Image by Ylanite Koppens from Pixabay

My family and I have wonderful memories from Grandma’s kitchen, where her chrome and Formica table with four vinyl-covered chairs sat smack in the middle of the room. We would retrieve wooden chairs with braided seats from the back bedroom so most of the adults could sit together.

Happy times! The family showed up with all the aunts “totin'” a dish or two, as Grandma would say. We’d set the table and leave a stack of plates on the Hoosier cabinet for the kids to fill and take to the “front room”.

There was no kid’s table at Grandma’s. All of us kids perched wherever we could find a spot, on couches, chairs, or on the floor. That house only had four rooms and two of those were bedrooms. No plumbing at all, and the heat was provided by a woodstove in the front room.

The star of Grandma’s dinner table was a chicken. Grandma raised chickens, so one was always handy.

Okay, I have a confession to make here: I never ate chicken at Grandma’s. Maybe I was a picky eater—I don’t remember—but that hunk of flesh in the center of the table had been out in the yard a few hours ago, scratching around. I couldn’t eat it.

I loved all the vegetables, though. Mashed potatoes and gravy, lima beans, crowder peas, skillet corn and cornbread dressing. But not the chicken, and certainly not the giblet gravy. I’d seen what went into the gravy. NO way! This girl didn’t eat innards.

Today, there will be a turkey on my Thanksgiving table. And there will be giblet gravy because my husband loves it. These days, I usually eat the turkey. I didn’t see it walking around and never made eye contact. I hope it had a good upbringing.

Happy Thanksgiving to you, whether you dine on chicken, turkey, tofurkey, etc.

For each new morning with its light, 
For rest and shelter of the night, 
For health and food, For love and friends, 
For everything Thy goodness sends, 
Father in heaven, We thank thee.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson [Prayer of Thanks]

A Look Back at Thanksgiving

This is a repost of my 2015 Thanksgiving post.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It’s a beautiful time, when families gather together. We live on a small court and like us, many of our neighbors have lived here a long time. As the holiday approaches, extra cars are parked in their driveways. Their children have arrived.  

Image by Peggychoucair from Pixabay

I remember those days, when we packed up the car and left on Tuesday night, or Wednesday evening, to drive the seven hours to Mom and Dad’s. It was a special time filled with hikes in the woods, roasting marshmallows over a fire, and of course, the main event: Thanksgiving Dinner. Mom spent days preparing and finally, dinner is spread on the table and we sit down.   

Yes, it was over in minutes. But we lingered around the table, laughing and talking. Clean up meant time spent on my own with Mom as we put the food away and washed the dishes. We put away all the special things she only used on holidays. We reminisced about past Thanksgivings, and loved ones now gone. Our sleep was sweet, maybe because of all the turkey we ate, but also because we were tired from all the activity.   

If you ventured out on Thanksgiving evening, stores were closed. Restaurants were closed. Ghost town. And I liked that feeling. Families gathered together to celebrate. They weren’t working. They weren’t shopping. I was reminded of my childhood, when Sundays meant darkened store windows. Even the grocery stores closed on Sunday, the traditional day of rest.  

Those days slipped away and now you can buy groceries on Sunday. And if you forgot cranberry sauce, you can buy it on Thanksgiving. I guess it’s convenient and the stores make more money, but it makes me sad to see these old traditions slip away. And now, Christmas has encroached on Thanksgiving.   

Yes, in a way, Christmas has always out-shined Thanksgiving. When I was little, I was happy to see the back of Thanksgiving, because I knew Christmas was close behind it. Now, I want the days to linger longer. I want to enjoy Thanksgiving and then turn my attention to Christmas. But I realize it’s a personal choice. Christmas lovers all around me already have their houses decorated. And there’s really nothing wrong with that. 

Their emphasis is still on celebrating families, and that’s what Thanksgiving is all about. Taking time to be thankful for the year’s bounty. I’m thankful for all that God has given this year. Like so many others, we’ve been through some things. But in the midst of all that, I can be thankful for God’s provision throughout our time of need. He’s brought our family together in a positive way and helped us overcome our difficulties.   

When we sit down to Thanksgiving Dinner this year, we’ll have so much to be thankful for, beyond the food that is set before us. Each individual sitting at our table is a part of something so much greater. When all the pieces come together, we are whole, and we are blessed. 

   

Christ, our Lord to you we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise…

For the Beauty of the Earth by Folliott Sandford Pierpoint, 1864

I hope your Thanksgiving is a time of celebration. Thanks for stopping by!


Coming

March 22, 2022

Christy Family Revisited

Last June (2020) I wrote about Mom’s family, the Christys. This year, I received a note from one of the cousins thanking me for writing about them and posting pictures of his great-grandfather and great-grandmother, Floyd and Alice Christy. He asked if Mom might remember Alice, as she died some time back. Mom was happy to talk about her Uncle Floyd and Aunt Alice. I thought her special memories would make a fine follow-up to that original post.

Mom will be eighty-eight in December. She spent most of last year recovering from a fall that resulted in a broken wrist and hip. She has a stubborn streak that would make her mama and daddy proud. They were grandchildren of pioneers, as tough as they come.

Mom is now back in her small apartment, taking care of herself. She is walking with a cane, bright-eyed, loves to read, and enjoys sharing her memories. Here’s what she said about those days:


My twin great uncles & their wives

I loved Aunt Alice. I’ll always remember the long, drawn-out way she would say my name with her beautiful southern drawl: Jo-Ann…

I can hear her so well in my memory. She was nice, jovial, and a great cook. For some reason, I especially remember her coconut pie. It was heavenly.

Back during WW2, the family came out to Seattle (from Texas) hoping their daughter, Joyce’s asthma would improve. She was always so fragile. Floyd, Alice, James, Joyce, and Grandma Minnie Christy, who later married Parker White and lived the rest of her life in the little house they bought in Amarillo. She left that home to Joyce when she passed away.

Those days they stayed with us in Seattle are the happiest days of my childhood. Earlene and I just loved our cousins, Joyce and James. We played lots of board games, cards, Chinese checkers—you name it. PLUS, Uncle Floyd had a movie camera and we got to watch lots of Disney-style cartoons. Did we ever love that!

My Grandpa, Earl Christy, on Guitar

Aunt Alice and Mama stayed busy cooking for that bunch. Grandma too, but most of the cooking was done by Mama and Aunt Alice. Both were very good cooks.

In the evenings, we would all sit around and sing. Back in those days, everyone sang. Daddy and Uncle Floyd played guitar and Mama played the piano. Uncle Floyd also played a mandolin. Joyce had a beautiful voice, except for the asthma interfering at times.

When Uncle Floyd got a job, they moved to a little house close to where “we kids” went to school. My sister, Earlene and I were so sad when they moved. But we got to spend the night with them on occasion, so we were happy about that.

Then they decided Joyce was getting worse instead of better, and I believe Joyce and Aunt Alice were homesick for Texas. So, they all left, and I guess Joyce was better off in the drier climate (though not cured).

I heard that Aunt Alice and Joyce went to Denver for a while to see if Joyce was better there. She was, but she and Aunt Alice were ready to go back to Texas.

The only other times I saw them was when we were headed to Tennessee from California (on vacation). We always stopped in Amarillo, and stayed with Floyd & Alice, as Grandma’s place was so tiny. Aunt Alice would invite the rest of the family over for meals. Boy, what great meals they served. Southern cooking–WOW.


What a blessing for me to have these wonderful memories of Mom’s. Not all of her childhood was happy, as her parents divorced when she was still in elementary school. So, it was a pleasure to hear she had happy times. When she mentioned that our family visited with Uncle Floyd and Aunt Alice when we passed through Amarillo, I remembered those times with Grandma Christy and the full house with lots of wonderful food.

Best of all, I remembered the laughter and what special guys my twin great uncles were. I’ve enjoyed this short “revisit” with my extended family. I would like to thank my cousin who contacted me, otherwise, I would never have heard this memory of my mother’s. She so enjoyed relating it!

A Favorite Christmas

Hello, Thursday Morning readers! I’m so glad you stopped by.

So, Christmas is coming, and for most of us, that means busy, busy, busy. Shopping, decorating, baking, partying—you know the routine. Maybe you need to hit the pause button and remember…

Do you have a favorite Christmas memory?

Here’s mine:

Mike, Ed, & Me!

San Diego, California, 1959 -The house we lived in was just blocks away from the San Diego Zoo and the mission at Balboa, so our yard was often filled with exotic sounds like the roar of a lion, the call of the peacock, the trumpet of elephants.

We didn’t have much money, but my mother could always find a way to make Christmas special for us. She made many of our gifts and baked lots of cookies.

Dad had been looking for another place to live, further out from town, so we’d spend the weekend looking at houses. I liked one particular house very much because it had an upper story which fascinated me. There was even a life-sized cardboard cutout of Shirley Temple in one upstairs bedroom.

The former owners had left a pile of trash in the yard. On that pile, I found a handmade doll cradle. It was broken and dirty, full of leaves and rainwater, but to me, it was a treasure. Only rich kids had such things. I knelt down beside it as children often do, to get a better look. In my heart was a deep longing, too innocent to be described as covetous. I wanted a doll cradle like that one.

On Christmas Eve, my older brother and I were begging to stay up. “Just a little bit longer, please.” To no avail, for I’m sure my mother had a million things to do to get ready for the big day. She stubbornly resisted our pleas. Then she received a little unexpected help by way of a stiff breeze outside. The front door blew open about six inches or so. Mike and I stopped our pleading to gaze at the door, then at each other. His eyes were large and his mouth formed an “o”. Chills tickled my spine.

“See there?” Mom said, always quick on the uptake. “Santa is trying to come, but you two are still up. He can’t come in while you’re awake.” There was no more argument. We ran as fast as we could and jumped into our beds.

Early on Christmas morning, we tiptoed out of our rooms to see what treasures Santa had left for us overnight. Oh, there seemed to be so much stuff beneath that tree. My brothers dived in at once, grabbing toys and showing them off to each other. I stood in awe, for there to my great surprise and joy, was the same little doll cradle I had seen on the trash pile. I knew it was the very same one, even though it had received a fresh coat of powder blue paint and was no longer broken.

Mom had made a small mattress and pillow, complete with an embroidered sheet, pillowcase, and quilt. A brand-new doll lay on top of it all. The doll could cry real tears and wet her diaper, but I barely noticed. I was enraptured with the refurbished cradle, even though I knew its last home had been a trash pile.

Long after I outgrew playing with dolls, that cradle sat in my room. When I was finished with it, Mom (who seldom threw anything away) used it as a planter. Every time I saw it, I remembered that special Christmas. It became one of my most cherished memories.

It’s not always necessary to spend a lot of money to make Christmas special. Sometimes a little imagination and a whole lot of love can bring the most joy to someone’s heart. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

 

Originally posted December, 2009

 

Coffee with a Pioneer?

Hello, Thursday morning friends! I hope you’re enjoying a successful week.

It’s been an interesting one for me. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need a vacation. I haven’t had one of those in a couple of years.

But not yet.

Lately, I’ve been reminiscing here on the blog. There’s a reason for that. I’m working on possible plots for future stories, and wondering which path to take first. I have a couple of ideas and the freedom to choose.

Some of you may have traced your family and found interesting folks and stories along the way. I haven’t done that, but some of my cousins have. My mother’s family traces back to Scotland in the 16th century. They came to Virginia and raised tobacco. Some of them moved west to Missouri. One was a Union sympathizer with a beard down to his waist. I read that he was not a popular guy. But his son dressed like a cowboy. He went to Arkansas and later, to Texas where he settled in the panhandle.

He was my grandpa’s grandfather. His son married and had four sons, but died in his forties. His wife, my great-grandma Christy, married her late sister’s husband. Think about that one. I suppose there were children involved that needed both parents to survive. Or, maybe they were in love.

I always admired my Great-Grandma Christy. She was a pioneer, and pioneers were tough. This time, I do have a picture. That’s Grandpa in the middle. He’s the second-youngest. His two older brothers were twins. Redheads, and don’t they look like trouble?

The Christy Family, circa 1911-1912

Folks didn’t smile for their pictures back then, but sometimes personalities shone through. Just as you can easily read the mischief in the faces of the twins, you can’t miss the hint of a smile on Great-Grandma’s face.

I wonder what it would’ve been like to visit her at home in those days? Would she offer coffee? Not in a Texas summer, I’ll bet. But in winter, she’d have a roaring flame in the cook stove and maybe brew coffee in an enamel pot.

This photo has always fascinated me. The first time I saw it, I wondered how my younger brother Ed could be in such an old photograph. That man on the left, my great-grandfather Christy—looks a lot like my younger brother—even the way he combed his hair.

I may be finished traveling memory lane. I really don’t know what’s up next. I’m reading a really good book. If I finish in time, I may write a review.

If you’re in the area, I hope you’ll join me on Saturday at the Plainview Barnes and Noble. Here’s an official invitation: