Thanksgiving Reflection...

Holidays are a time of reflection. It seems just a short time ago that I was making my first Thanksgiving Dinner, all by myself. I was living in Fajardo, Puerto Rico in a 30-story condominium at Dos Marinas. I had been married long enough to have two children, but my Mum had always fixed our family holiday dinners. To Grandmothers House we would go.

I remember having a difficult time getting food. There was a dock strike on the mainland. Since everything was shipped into this lovely island, food was a bit scarce. We had enough to eat. Although, important things like turkeys were non-existent. Therefore, we had stuffed chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, baked apples and apple cider. That was it. There was no pie, no whipped cream, no sweet potatoes, no green beans, and no special marshmallow salad.

Even in California, there is a small change in the seasons, not so at Thanksgiving in Puerto Rico. We were just coming out of hurricane season. It was hot and almost sickly humid. This was my first holiday away from home. I was longing for my husband who was away on travel, my Mum, my Dad, and air conditioning! I remember tears falling like rain as I put the little chicken into the oven.

Wendy, came up to me with a kitchen towel saying, Mama, you must be hot 'cause you are sweating so much that you are making the oven pop. Yes, I was making the oven pop, although not because I was glistening. (Ladies do not sweat!) The oven was popping from my falling tears. I remember gathering her up into my arms. I twirled her around saying, well then, we will dance and the breeze will make me cool. She giggled as we danced and danced.

Mark, who was eight, was playing with his Hot Wheels Road Racer, and we tripped over it. I remember that he got up and with his hands on hips saying; you girls belong in the kitchen. I remember falling down laughing and looking at these beautiful children beside me, thinking...this is so good. It is not California, I do not have my Mama, but I have my babies and that peaked looking chicken is just fine. For the first time while lying on that hot floor, I realized what Thanksgiving really was. It was not about turkey.

I can remember this day as if it was yesterday. This dinner was to be the first and the last Thanksgiving dinner I ever cooked for Mark. Little did I know that in a few short months, Mark would be in Heaven.

Although, I never fixed Mark a real turkey dinner for his last Thanksgiving, I know he did not mind. For on this day in Puerto Rico, the three of us were together, laughing, and giggling. Thanksgiving dinner of 1977 was not perfect. Nonetheless, I think perhaps, it was the best.

It has been 32 years since Thanksgiving, November 24 1977. This Sunday, November 29, 2009, I am driving to Delaware to meet my new grandson, Kieran Mark Allen. I have waited so long to hold a little Mark in my arms again. Thank you, Todd and Colleen for giving me this gift. For me, The Morning Has Broken.

Morning has broken, like the first morning.
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for the springing fresh from the world.