Passing the Baton, A Thanksgiving Reflection

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, simple, heartfelt, and overflowing with gratitude. My sweet momma was the Queen of Thanksgiving. She taught me, by example, how to welcome people into your home and create a day that feels cherished, warm and unforgettable. Her table was never about perfection. It was all about presence. (Someone once told me, perhaps my mom, when hosting, never worry about what you put on the table, the key to success is who you put on the chairs.)

When I married and moved from upstate New York to California in 1965, my husband and I shared our first Thanksgiving alone in a lovely restaurant. We didn’t know anyone, YET. By the next Thanksgiving our tiny, one bedroom apartment was bursting with friends, laughter, mismatched dishes and the beginning of a tradition that lasted more than SIX DECADES.

For 61 years, with only a very few (4) exceptions, my home has been the hub of Thanksgiving. I have roasted the turkeys, mashed the taters, baked the sweet potatoes, made the green bean casserole and baked the pies. I welcomed the guests and carried my mom’s baton with pride and purpose.

BUT, this year I will not be hosting. HMMMMMM? Serious “emotional reflex” at the thought. I won’t even share all of the dark thoughts that surfaced but they ended with, “the old lady is gaining ground”. Soooooooooo after a long discussion with that voice in my head, ya know the one that is wired for survival not happiness, I emerged victorious. I got my s_ _ t together and realized what a wonderful gift I was just given by my sweet, daughter’s offer to host. But I must be perfectly honest, passing the baton felt emotional. It made me feel old. A little empty. A little without purpose. I am so happy I caught myself. Why would I deny my sweet girl the absolute delight and joy that comes with hosting Thanksgiving. Why did I refuse, at first, to hear the excitement in her voice. The joy. The pride. Sometimes I can be a “hamster brain”. It took me a while (several days) before I knew, with a joyful heart that my job was done. But I was finally ok. I knew with a full heart that the legacy had taken root.

She is becoming her generation’s queen of Thanksgiving! One proud momma here. I hope I taught her well. Especially this one thing, no matter how much you plan and prepare when the doorbell rings the party takes on a life of its own. Just go with it. It will never be as you imagined but I know it will be warm, welcoming and delicious.

Watching her prepare with a joyful heart, planning, decorating, cooking and soon welcoming, is one of the most beautiful gifts I could receive.

Surely family holiday traditions are not meant to be the same. They are meant to evolve, to grow, to be loved by the next pair of hands. There is definitely a buzz of anticipation in the air, with excitement over the coming Thanksgiving day at AA. (Aunt A).

So this year, I will sit at her beautiful table with a full and grateful heart.

Happy Thanksgiving my Rebellious friends. May your day be filled with love, family, friends, and gratitude that spans generations.

***Suz***