Thanksgiving

This is a snippet from Coming Apart, both because it’s the perfect time of year to re-share and because I’m up to my eyebrows in Thanksgiving preparations and so I'll leave you with Ava’s meal instead.

It is Thanksgiving, 1931, early in the Depression but there didn't need to be a crash for poverty to be felt in Pennsylvania's coal country. Ava's mother has just died and the family is still reeling from her loss and the unexpected return of her sister Claire. They share the meal with their next-door neighbors so that everyone has enough food.

******

Trudy and I combine forces for Thanksgiving. Her son has not returned, and for a few days, my smiling friend is replaced by a sad-eyed woman who looks ten years older. She pulls herself together because Fritz and Hetty, her remaining grandchildren, need her.

In addition to the moral support, a joint dinner means more food for all. One of Daniel’s friends managed to shoot a couple of turkeys in the woods north of town, and he brought one home in exchange for helping to fix a roof. The house is perfumed with its rich scent.

Carrying the platter across the back porch to Trudy’s kitchen, I think about how this was always Mama’s favorite holiday. She was big on gratitude, giving loud thanks for blessings other people might not have recognized as such. I want to be more like her, but I can’t help but see that we have a turkey only because Daniel gave up his day off, and a meal meant for family must be shared with others for there to be enough.

I hear Mama’s voice, as I often do these days. Family is whoever you choose to bring under your roof. Trudy is family, in that sense, as was Dora, her daughter-in-law.

There are thirteen around the table, which is two tables put together and dragged into the front room: Trudy and Hermann, Fritz and Hetty, Daniel and me and our five, and two of Trudy’s boarders who were invited at the last minute, soft-spoken men whose contributions are a pie and a packet of tea.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, Our Lord, amen.” 

The room falls silent but for “please pass the potatoes” and “may I have more beans?” For once no one worries about holding back for the next day.

One of the men says something to Hermann, and he repeats it to Trudy. She turns to me. “Hans says at such a meal, his family would go around the table and each person says what they are grateful for. Do you think this is good?”

“It sounds like something Mama would have liked.”

Her eyes crinkle. “Then we shall do it for Lillie.” She explains the idea to everyone and points to the man who suggested it. “Hans, is your idea, so you go first.”

Hans blushes and stammers, but manages—with Trudy’s translation—to say, “I am thankful to be surrounded by kind people when I am missing my family.”

His friend, whose name I didn’t catch, echoes him, word for word.

“I’m thankful for turkey!” Toby waves his fork.

“And pie!” George, not to be outdone, points toward the kitchen.

“I’m grateful for my family,” Dandy says, ducking his head.

Trudy looks around. “I am thankful for my family that is here, and my family that is not here.”

Fritz, his chin quivering, gulps and says, “I am thankful Mama didn’t live to see us separated.” His grandmother says something sharp in German and the boy shakes his head.

“I’m grateful for Granny,” Pearl says, smoothing things over. “I’m grateful we had her as long as we did.”

“So am I, honey.” I put my hand over hers. “And I’m grateful for everyone at this table today.”

“Thelma?” Daniel asks. “What about you?”

She looks up through tousled curls and points at my belly. “I’ll be grateful not to be the baby anymore.”

There is no night shift on Thanksgiving. Daniel and I huddle together under the quilts, listening to the murmur of the kids’ conversation on the other side of the wall. It quiets down soon enough; their bellies are too full for them to stay awake for long.

“You never said what you were thankful for.” I roll on my left side, the only position in which I am comfortable.

He curls around me and nuzzles my neck. “Like you have to ask,” he says. “I’m thankful for you, and our family. I’m the luckiest man in the goddamn world.”

December. It's practically here.

How was your thanksgiving? I hope your turkey was juicy your family was well behaved, and you got some decent down time.

We went to my best friend's for Thanksgiving dinner, and you know it's a good meal when you're still not hungry by lunch time the next day. Which was a pity, because she sent us home with leftovers.

Also on Friday was the loading in, setting up, and first day of a two-day event in my town. I've been doing it for 5 or 6 years now, and it's always fun, and since I'm in the lobby of the building, I get to see everyone as they come in and catch up with a ton of people.

Sales were good - my new critters in clothes got some decent love from the crowd - but by the time we loaded out on Saturday dinner time, I felt like a rag that had been wrung out. Came home and fell asleep on the couch.

Normally, we would have gone to New Jersey on Sunday, to visit Mario's mom, but she's having a procedure this week so we saved our drive time to be with her then.

I've got one more craft show this coming saturday, back in West Philly, and I also just got in a wholesale order, so there's a bit of frantic sewing in addition to a bit of frantic writing on the second book of my Ava and Claire series. I know what's happening, but the voices in my head were getting a little loud, so I guess I need to write it down.

What did you do with your long weekend? Are there craft shows in your area? What's your favorite thing to shop for?

Happy Thanksgiving!

For Thanksgiving, I'd like to offer my take on Thanksgiving, 1932 in the combined households of Ava Kimber and her friend and neighbor, Trudy. Times are hard, but they can still find reason to be grateful, and it's the one day of the year where no one worries about leftovers.

**************

Trudy and I combine forces for Thanksgiving. Karl has not returned, and for a few days, my smiling friend is replaced by a sad-eyed woman who looks ten years older. She pulls herself together because Fritz and Hetty, her remaining grandchildren, need her.

In addition to the moral support, a joint dinner means more food for all. One of Daniel’s friends managed to shoot a couple of turkeys in the woods north of town, and he brought one home in exchange for helping to fix a roof. The house is perfumed with its rich scent.

Carrying the platter across the back porch to Trudy’s kitchen, I think about how this was always Mama’s favorite holiday. She was big on gratitude, giving loud thanks for blessings other people might not have recognized as such. I want to be more like her, but I can’t help but see that we have a turkey only because Daniel gave up his day off, and a meal meant for family must be shared with others for there to be enough.

I hear Mama’s voice, as I often do these days. Family is whoever you choose to bring under your roof. Trudy is family, in that sense, as was Dora, her daughter-in-law.

There are thirteen of us around the table, which is two tables put together and dragged into the front room: Trudy and Hermann, Fritz and Hetty, Daniel and me and our five, and two of Trudy’s boarders who were invited at the last minute, soft-spoken men whose contributions are a pie and a packet of tea.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, Our Lord, amen.” 

The room falls silent but for “please pass the potatoes” and “may I have more beans?” For once no one worries about holding back for the next day.

One of the men says something to Hermann, and he repeats it to Trudy. She turns to me. “Hans says at such a meal, his family would go around the table and each person says what they are grateful for. Do you think this is good?”

“It sounds like something Mama would have liked.”

Her eyes crinkle. “Then we shall do it for Lillie.” She explains the idea to everyone and points to the man who suggested it. “Hans, is your idea, so you go first.”

Hans blushes and stammers, but manages—with Trudy’s translation—to say, “I am thankful to be surrounded by kind people when I am missing my family.”

His friend, whose name I didn’t catch, echoes him, word for word.

“I’m thankful for turkey!” Toby waves his fork.

“And pie!” George, not to be outdone, points toward the kitchen.

“I’m grateful for my family,” Dandy says, ducking his head.

Trudy looks around. “I am thankful for my family that is here, and my family that is not here.”

Fritz, his chin quivering, gulps and says, “I am thankful Mama didn’t live to see us separated.” His grandmother says something sharp in German and the boy shakes his head.

“I’m grateful for Granny,” Pearl says, smoothing things over. “I’m grateful we had her as long as we did.”

“So am I, honey.” I put my hand over hers. “And I’m grateful for everyone at this table today.”

“Thelma?” Daniel asks. “What about you?”

She looks up through tousled curls. “I’ll be grateful not to be the baby anymore.”

There is no night shift on Thanksgiving. Daniel and I huddle together under the quilts, listening to the murmur of the kids’ conversation on the other side of the wall. It quiets down soon enough; their bellies are too full for them to stay awake for long.

“You never said what you were thankful for.” I roll on my left side, the only position in which I am comfortable.

He curls around me and nuzzles my neck. “Like you have to ask,” he says. “I’m thankful for you, and our family. I’m the luckiest man in the goddamn world.”

Thank you

I'm a little late for Thanksgiving, but that doesn't stop me from still being grateful.

It's been quite a month, folks. I can say that, now, on December 1st. Songbird came out on November 3, and while I don't know how many copies I've sold thus far - I'll get numbers from my publisher soon - I already have THIRTEEN five-star reviews on Amazon, and more than a few of them are from people I don't know.

So there's that.

That's not nothing.

There's also the fact that I've got a book event set up at a local library in December, and another one at Shakespeare & Company's Philadelphia store in January, both of which I find mildly terrifying and which I will manage to do anyway, because I can.

The draft of the next book is progressing nicely, though because it goes beyond the death of Henry VIII into the reigns of Edward and Mary, I'm having to do a lot of reading. Right now I'm knee-deep in a biography of Thomas Cromwell, which would be fascinating if I wasn't doing what Mario calls "readsearch" which is exhaustive and exhausting because I'm taking notes while reading, and it slows down my enjoyment of the words.

I'd already found Cromwell interesting from reading Hillary Mantel's fabulous Wolf Hall - oh, how I'm waiting for the third installment in March! - but the reality isn't much different from fiction in his case. The man did a lot in a relatively short life (died in his mid-50s) and my main character in the next book spends a significant chunk of time with him, so I need to know a lot so I can only put in the important bits. It's surprising how much you have to know to understand how little you need to include to give the flavor of a time period, or a person. The first draft is definitely an info dump, at least for me.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday, that your families - if you were with them - weren't too annoying, that your turkey was moist, your cranberries were in whatever format you prefer, and there was adequate pie. If your Thanksgiving was solo (I did holidays alone for years and loved it), I hope the wine was good and the Netflix entertaining.