Thanksgiving was always a dream holiday for me–a homebody–I didn’t have to go anywhere, recipes are predictable (and there’s always premade gravy), no gift-giving angst, and most amazing of all, everyone volunteers to help with the dishes. I love to cook and after 20 or so turkeys dressed and in the oven, I learned every trick to roasting the perfect bird, including a bag of innards accidently left in the cavity can be removed before carving and no one is the wiser (Thanksgiving #1). We hosted all the Thanksgiving orphans and as our friends all got married and started their own families, we began hosting friends for a Thanksgiving-eve dinner. I learned to be mindful of how much wine to drink Wednesday night in order to avoid making the stuffing while resting my head on the kitchen island (Thanksgiving #22). We took a leisurely approach to the day compared to the Thanksgivings I remember with my mom and mammaw. They would get up at 5am to start dinner and not leave the kitchen until the food was put on the table, but I don’t recall ever eating before 2pm. I’ve never been able to figure out what exactly they were doing for 8 hours—maybe there was a secret cocktail hour before they started the stuffing. My Thanksgivings started with mimosas before I ever put the turkey in the oven. With the Macy’s Day Parade playing in the background, we peeled potatoes and browned sausage, and enjoyed a day spent at home.
I loved presiding over the bountiful table laden with food and my husband always chose a fantastic wine for us and our family and friends to toast all the things we had to be thankful for. The day ended with the annual screening of How the Grinch Stole Christmas , and when the kids were little, the screening would be repeated ad nauseum until February or someone found the Frosty DVD that I had hidden. Black Friday was the day we started dragging out the Christmas decorations. The second day of leftovers and bringing out the Spode Christmas tree china signaled the beginning of the holiday season.
I swore nothing could make us change our well-loved traditions. But then again, I also swore that we would never be one of those travel-team families where the family schedule was consumed with practices and games. I learned to keep my swearing to the four-letter variety, because my oldest tried out and made a travel field hockey club team, and our schedule became consumed with practices and games. Unbeknownst to me, the biggest field hockey tournament of the year takes place over Thanksgiving and we were headed to the Palm Beach for my favorite holiday.
Thanksgiving morning we watched the sun rise over the field hockey pitch as our daughter played and in the afternoon returned to our rental to make Thanksgiving dinner. It was a lovely house for a light-footed eighty-year-old—the home’s collection of museum-quality antique glassware (there was a sign with historical provenance) in the rickety glass display case shook and clinked every time the kids ran down the hall–Everything survived and I got the security deposit check back to prove it. Eating by candlelight on the poolside patio that evening, I conceded that it was a pretty sweet set-up, even if we weren’t at home.
With four girls playing field hockey, our Thanksgiving tradition became a yearly pilgrimage to the polo fields of Palm Beach and Palm Springs- the location switches every two years- for field hockey and evolving customs. Sometimes we rent a house for a week and cook dinner “at home” and sometimes we stay in a hotel and enjoy (sorry, I’m lying) the Thanksgiving buffet. A newer tradition began after one kid forgot to pack her STICK and we paid an extra baggage fee to bring an empty stick bag to California. Back home in Virginia, Nana had to climb into the back of my husband’s Jeep to send the “lucky” stick to California via FEDEX Overnight (Thanksgiving #24), so now we triple check that the girls brought their most important piece of equipment. These days our older girls fly in to Florida or California from college separately from us, staying for different lengths of time, and no one wants to watch Frosty anymore.
This year we have a fabulous hotel on the beach and our Thanksgiving dinner reservation is for an oceanside table, but I’ve come to realize that the holiday is about taking the time to remind myself about all there is a lot to be thankful for. By hook or crook, my husband and I get our girls together and we have 3 days with field hockey, family, and laughter (and at least one fight over clothes.) We’ve spent the last five Thanksgivings traveling to the tournament and with my youngest starting high school this past fall, we only have 4 Festival visits left. I’ll have the Williams-Sonoma-worthy dinners at home again someday, but for now I’m committed to enjoying the tail end of the ride.