We had Thanksgiving early this year.
It was lovely.
It wasn’t perfect, of course, it was so much less than perfect, but even as the edges of perfection got all blurred just like the edges of my cherry pie crust got slightly burned, it was very awesome.
Of course I wanted a picture perfect Thanksgiving and in my mind, I visualized it, imagining myself and my Thanksgiving scenario the centre spread of Better Homes and Gardens or some other such glossy type magazine.
Perfectly set table. Everything matching. Chairs, dishes, silverware, all in place. I could even see my home ec teacher from long ago applauding me and forgiving me for not paying attention. In those days incredible as it may seem, we were required to dress accordingly on home ec day which meant no blue jeans. We had to wear dresses, proper dresses of course, dresses befitting the ladies we were preparing to become.
I smile as I remember. My children would not believe such a dress code and my grandchildren would simply roll their eyes and go back to their iPads.
Anyway, back to my visioning.
As the perfect hostess, I would sit, demure, eyes downcast, smoothing out my cute little apron and saying things like, “would you care for more of these delicious Brussels sprouts?”.
Of course, none of that came to be.
I don’t, in fact, own a cute little apron, or any apron for that matter.
And try as I might, I could not get the entire famdamily around my kitchen table, even stretching it out to its very widest.
And so we had to have the kid’s table, which is not necessarily the kids table, but the overflow table.
But, so it happened, the kids and even my daughter-in-law, bless her and her lovely quinoa salad, seemed perfectly content to sit at the kids table.
For some reason, known only perhaps to the child himself, Jacob, our precarious two-year-old, ended up not only at the big table with the adults, but at the head of the big table, and quite, I might add, delighted to be there.
And, so even as the wind got all huffy and blew huge swirls of leaves around ferociously, and political debates got downright personal, and world events remained chaotic and unsettled, things inside my house remain calm and happy.
I was gifted with flowers, pumpkin pies, salads, desserts and many, many hugs.
And people, in comfortable disorganized order, spilled in and out of kitchen, scraping vegetables, cleaning and doing other endless things that need to happen to bring it all together.
And now the only thing left in my kitchen is the leftovers.
My kitchen table is small again. The toys are put away.
The children have gone home.
All is quiet and still.
And once again, I am absolutely exhausted, but, oh so grateful for one quick moment in time when we all sat around a table with mismatched plates and chairs and ate way too much and talked and laughed together.
Another year has come and gone and the onslaught of winter is probably just hiding under a pile of leaves.
But even as seasons change it is wonderful to know that some things remain timeless and forever.
Love, hugs, family and friends.
Thanksgiving. Truly a season and a reason to be thankful.
Treena Mielke lives in Sylvan Lake and is editor of the Rimbey Review. She has been a journalist and columnist for more than 25 years. Treena is married to Peter and they have three children and six grandchildren.