Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part XIV

Memories of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was always a huge deal for our family. No matter the situation or where it was located and with whom, we never failed to have a big feast and great company. Some years were far bigger than others with the number of people involved being just plain impressive. And then some years were far more intimate affairs where it may have only been a few of us. And, of course, there were a couple of years when we had more than one Thanksgiving followed up by hours of bloating and shame.

The earliest Thanksgivings I really remember were at my grandparent's house. My grandma was a stickler for making the holiday extra special and she'd always break out the expensive silver (yes, actual silver) and the China plates (yes, actual China... in fact, I believe I have these somewhere). She'd dress the table in a cover that I only remember seeing use for big, impressive meals like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and probably Easter. It was one of those lacy numbers with the giant doily-like pattern. You know; meals where the food was advert-quality and as beautiful as you read about. We'd arrive early, dressed to the nines (I always hated that part), and sit around watching the Macy's Parade while my grandma, decked out in her crazy autumn-print apron, would be singing away the time in the kitchen as she created Thanksgiving masterpieces. Her food was the stuff from which legends were born: classic Pepperidge Farm stuffing, a huge, never dry turkey, bowls of mashed potatoes, and, of course, home-made gravy. Made in the pan from the drippings with just flour, a little salt, and the ancient whisking knowledge of how to do it properly. It's these meals that stick with me so prominently, and it's these meal's greatness I strive every year to achieve. I miss them.

Some years, we'd go to my other grandparent's house. My dad's family. Her's weren't quite as elaborate, but they were equally as wonderful. She didn't have the special silverware and flatware, but that didn't matter. What she did have was love and just as much skill around food as her counterpart. As we'd sit in the family room coloring -or whatever we did when we were that young- as my grandma would be doing her magic in her kitchen creating a meal that was almost as memorable. Though she'd make nearly the same thing, her feasts always included sweet potatoes with marshmallows (something even to this day I can't stomach) and some kind of Jell-O dish typically with fruit bits hovering inside. Not my favorite. But it never mattered because we always had a great time and many of those meals will never be forgotten.

After my parents separated and remarried, new families created new Thanksgiving memories... some of which just as incredible as those that came before them. My step mother (at the time) was of Maltese heritage and her parents were from the old country. Thanksgivings (the few we attended) over there at their house in Detroit, were simply amazing for someone like me who is a pretty adventurous food lover: rabbit, mastaccoli, pastitsi, you name it... the more unusual, the better (think Greek by way of Italy). And there was often enough food to feed an entire neighborhood, which was good since many times there were upwards of fifty people milling about. The Thanksgivings at my step dad's family's houses were pretty special, too. They were all more or less standard American fare, but they were all such huge sports fans that football became a religion over there and even of the food wasn't especially memorable, the games always were.

Eventually I got married. Thanksgivings became even more wide spread and began to include far more people and take place at far different locations. We've had the meal at our house a time or two, and though that is always a blast (since I typically take on more than just the turkey) it's just as fun to make things and take them elsewhere. We've had Thanksgiving at my wife's family's house, and those are great since she is a great cook and the food is always wonderful. We've had very small Thanksgivings where it was just our family (Amy, the kids, and I) and my mom (my step dad passed a number of years ago). We've had big feasts at my uncle's house that are almost magically reminiscent of his mom's (my grandma who has also passed), and those are really special since they bring back so many wonderful memories. And recently, including this year, we're having the meal at my brother's house. This year should prove to be an exciting experiment, as the guest list includes: my immediate family (5 people), my dad and his new wife, Vicki, her recently separated son, my sister and her family (4), my brother -without his wife who has moved to Florida for a job opportunity where my brother will be in March- and my mom. Bizarre, maybe, but it's not going to be without excitement. And beer. Always beer.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part XIII

Boy, it's been a minute since I last updated here. I realized this earlier this morning when I was thinking back to some High School things, and it suddenly occurred to me... hey, wasn't I just writing stuff about that? Yep. Well, here it goes, back on the track.

For now.

In High School I was pretty much known for being able to do one thing really well: draw. Sure, I was abundantly proficient at writing; both for assigned work and just because I enjoyed doing it. But it was always drawing that made my circle of friends and acquaintances that much bigger. I don't know how it all started, since as I said, I was new to Paw Paw for High School and only knew one person from my Portage years, so it wasn't like I had friends who spread the word. It's possible I was in art class (a subject I always excelled at and was frequently given different assignments because I was just so much more adept at things... not that I'm bragging, but there it is) and maybe chatter started there and kids began to see what I was capable of doing. However it happened, it spread and I began doing as much as I could for everyone who asked.

If there was a big basketball or football game, I'd be brought on to design signs and banners. If prom or some kind of dance or extracurricular activity was the subject, I'd be asked to help draw that up. In fact, at one point I was in the running to change the logo for the school sports teams. Though I lost out, some of my input was used in the final design that ended up getting used. I designed a T-Shirt at one point, I was consistently on the yearbook staff helping with that, and I often helped less-than artistic teachers roll out some cool graphics for something or other.

In two cases of that nature I can remember, I helped my Spanish teacher and my Chem teacher. First there was Mrs. Howell, my Spanish instructor. I was pathetic and lousy at Spanish and I honestly didn't care. Well, my grade cared because it sucked. So, in order to get it up to beyond just passing, I was commissioned to draw up and write game cards for a Spanish version of CLUE. They turned out well enough to get used years later when my brother and sister each went through the class, so I suppose that was something. And I got a sold C out of it! The other was artwork of molecules and their workings like atomic weights and such for Mrs. McCarthy's Chem class. She was one of my favorite teachers and in this case it wasn't to improve a grade, I just did it because she asked. Word got around to other teachers and I'd do a few small things here and there, but those two were some of the more major achievements that I can readily remember.

But the biggest and, arguably, most famous artwork I was ever a part of turned out to be something I still hold dear and still have in my memorabilia collection. My buddy Paul and I decided it would be really fun to start doing an episodic comic strip based on characters we'd created who looked remarkably similar to a few students we weren't too fond of. Yeah, it initially started out as being kind of mean, but it slowly morphed into more of just good-natured ribbing, as well as gaining a life of its own. The Comic was called LYLE and it starred a tall, pimple-faced goofball who bore more than a passing resemblance to a stretched out, moronic Bart Simpson mixed with whoever it was we were picking on (I forget who it was). Lyle's brother was named Glen and he was a complete mocking of one of our Speech/Theater/Grammar teachers, Mr. Roehrig. Glen was a closet... um, homosexual, and was constantly doing things that... um, reinforced that fact. It turned into a monster. We eventually gathered other artists throughout the school to do guest spots in our books, and even teachers wanted to read them. They were amazing. They were pretty ingeniously built, too. I would by a cheap, standard folder and a drawing pad that would fit perfectly in the folder, cut off the covers and glue it in. Each cover was a different color and everyone knew that every other week or so a new color meant new adventures. Those things were so much fun.

And there you have it! My life in High School as a sought-after artist. I miss that, sometimes...