That’s How Memere Always Did It.

Thanksgiving was Memere’s holiday.

Sure, she continued to cook throughout the year.  Simple yet delicious things like fried potatoes smothered in butter and onions.  Macaroni and cheese.  Ginger cookies with a dust of sugar.  But Thanksgiving was a day all of its own.  Memere knew what to do to make the holiday quintessentially perfect.  There were toasty warm rolls, potatoes with butter, cranberry sauce, carrots and green beans and stuffing.  The turkey is something we still all dream about and the dessert display left absolutely nothing to the imagination.


Thanksgiving was Memere’s holiday.

A few years back, Memere passed away after a brief battle with cancer, and my mom has graciously taken on the roll of preparing the Thanksgiving meal ever since.  Sometimes my heart still aches when I think of Memere and the way she would smile with content to see all of us eating more than our bellies should have been physically able to hold.  Nothing made her happier.

But then.  Despite the bittersweet memories, I am happy.  Content.  Thankful and well beyond blessed.  Because our family is still gathering together in one place.  My mom continues to make the same warm, toasty rolls that sends butter into a state of oblivion.  The turkey continues to take center stage.  And the dessert table is still something to be remembered.

(and she still manages to take the time to dance to “Remember When” by Alan Jackson with my dad)

My family is not perfect.  We yell.  Sometimes we fight and scramble.  (I can remember Memere encouraging a good squabble now and then, as it’s – I quote – “better to let things out than to hold things in.”)  We’re not perfect but we’re family.  We love each other through it all, and we savor the old memories with the new.  Together.  In one place.  Carrying on the traditions of family and feast.

Because.  Really.  That’s how Memere always did it.


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