Thanksgiving is my current favorite holiday. It edged past Christmas some years ago about the time my children reached the age where they'd never act like children when I wanted them to be little, only when I wanted them to be big.
Actually, my favorite holiday is like my favorite food, pretty much whatever I find on my plate. This week Thanksgiving. Next month Christmas. Coming soon, Be Nice to Columnists week.Speaking of plates, I still need to do inventory, make sure I have enough dishes to feed a small army. A good hostess never takes place settings for granted, not in a house where things have a way of disappearing and ending up in her children's apartments.
I'll count the plates, set the table, arrange the flowers and light the candles. Heaven help me, I'll even stuff the turkey. But I will not make this, or any holiday, a big production. I don't do big productions any more. Big productions make me crabby. I'd rather have a good time.
It's part of turning 50, I suppose, realizing you'd much rather laugh with people than impress or resent them. But there's more to it than that.
People are more important than place settings, just as fellowship means more than festivities. I've always known that. But after losing my husband to cancer last winter, I know it differently now. I see it with far more clarity.
My friend, Mary, who does holidays with so much grace and style she makes Martha Stewart look like Peg Bundy, tells this story about her favorite Thanksgiving:
It was some years ago, when Mary's boys, now men, were still small.
Seems Bill, her husband, got it in his head to go to Palm Springs, of all places, for Thanksgiving. And when Bill gets something in his head, well, anyhow, they all went to Palm Springs, eight people in one van: Mary, Bill, their three boys, along with two of their buddies, and Mary's brother, who always spent Thanksgiving with them. Along with eight sleeping bags, a pile of luggage, Bill's golf clubs and a frozen turkey.
"The place had one bedroom and a kitchenette," she said laughing. "The stove had two burners and a tiny oven."
She bought pies, mashed the potatoes, opened a box of Stove Top Dressing and served the turkey on a coffee table.
"We sat on the floor and took turns saying what we were thankful for," she recalled, "and I realized what I felt most thankful for was being with the people I loved."
Years later, she said, when her brother was dying with AIDS, he told her that of all the Thanksgivings they'd had together, his favorite was the one in Palm Springs.
It's Mary's favorite, too.
Come Thursday, I'll set two tables for all the people I hold dear: One in my dining room for those I'll have with me - my children, my sister and a few brave souls who'll pretend not to notice that I don't know which end of the turkey to stuff - and one in my heart for countless others, who for whatever reasons, can't make it this year.
I'll save you a seat at that table. Maybe you'll save one for me. It won't be a big production, but there'll be room enough for us all.