Marveltone
Veteran Member
- Joined
- Jun 20, 2010
- Messages
- 1,411
- Location
- Somewhere north of Roseau, MN
- Tractor
- Fordson Major Diesel, McCormick Deering W4, Ford 1510, John Deere L111
This will be the first Thanksgiving we've had since my Mother-in-Law passed away last spring. My wife, who writes from time to time, shared her thoughts on this year's upcoming festivities.
I hope you like it:
When you speak on the phone with your hard-of-hearing, 95-year-old uncle, you use a different voice and language. You speak with a projected voice and you enunciate each word very deliberately. The regular flippant vernacular you use with your teenagers is replaced with simple, to-the-point, yet polite discourse. My son, passing through the room, eyed me quizzically for a moment, then mouthed "Uncle Clifford?" I nodded vigorously.
"I'm calling to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner at Minnesota Hill" I explained carefully. I don't remember a Thanksgiving without Minnesota Hill or Clifford. When I was a kid, he and Aunt Ethel and Uncle Carl and Aunt Ida would arrive bearing pies and flatbread and a jug of cider that would sit out on the cold November doorstep. In the years after Ethel passed away, the pies would be store-bought, but the flatbread would have come from Clifford's own kitchen.
"I don't do much driving anymore..." he began cautiously. "Chester and Eleanor said they can give you ride" I assured him. Chester is the brother-in-law of my deceased step-father Levern, for those who are keeping track. He and Eleanor became regular Thanksgiving guests at the Hill a few years ago. They always bring home-canned pickles and frozen corn from their garden. While Eleanor washed the dishes, Mom dried and I put away, Chester, Levern and Clifford would linger over pumpkin pie and solve the problems of the world. Chester and Clifford had to do it alone last year.
In the months since Mom has been gone, I've been wondering about Thanksgiving dinner. We had somehow managed to set the table after Dad passed away, and Carl and Ethel and Levern, but how would this be possible without Mama?
I imagined we would just not, until my sister-in-law Debbie suggested we have the Olson family at the Hill for Thanksgiving, it being a convenient half-way meeting place for several of them. We had had a birthday party there together that had gone well, and they had all been so kind in so many ways, helping with projects around the farm. Hmm, I had thought. That'd be different. An Olson Thanksgiving at Minnesota Hill. The idea grew on me and I started making lists. Things would be different. I thought about Chester and Eleanor and Clifford. It would be crowded and there would be unfamiliar people there. Maybe I should invite them for a meal before Thanksgiving or the Sunday after? This seemed like a reasonable, practical idea. I hated it.
Grief manifests itself in so many ways. At times you want to cling to the way things were and make sure nothing changes. At other times, you are tempted to try to make clean breaks with the past and do everything differently. I suppose that is the hard work of grief, sorting through what's left.
The guest list for Thanksgiving dinner is as follows: Joe, Bonnie, Paul, David, Sarah, Bill, Arlene, Elliott, Grandma Erliss, Chester, Eleanor, Clifford, Shelly, Eileen, David, Deb, Adam and Allan. And maybe Mary. Possibly Emil. Oh, and Mojo the English Bulldog and Max the Mighty Mutt. Things will be different. We'll serve buffet-style. The plates will be Chinette. The stuffing will be Stove Top. I wonder if Clifford will bring flatbread?
I hope you like it:
When you speak on the phone with your hard-of-hearing, 95-year-old uncle, you use a different voice and language. You speak with a projected voice and you enunciate each word very deliberately. The regular flippant vernacular you use with your teenagers is replaced with simple, to-the-point, yet polite discourse. My son, passing through the room, eyed me quizzically for a moment, then mouthed "Uncle Clifford?" I nodded vigorously.
"I'm calling to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner at Minnesota Hill" I explained carefully. I don't remember a Thanksgiving without Minnesota Hill or Clifford. When I was a kid, he and Aunt Ethel and Uncle Carl and Aunt Ida would arrive bearing pies and flatbread and a jug of cider that would sit out on the cold November doorstep. In the years after Ethel passed away, the pies would be store-bought, but the flatbread would have come from Clifford's own kitchen.
"I don't do much driving anymore..." he began cautiously. "Chester and Eleanor said they can give you ride" I assured him. Chester is the brother-in-law of my deceased step-father Levern, for those who are keeping track. He and Eleanor became regular Thanksgiving guests at the Hill a few years ago. They always bring home-canned pickles and frozen corn from their garden. While Eleanor washed the dishes, Mom dried and I put away, Chester, Levern and Clifford would linger over pumpkin pie and solve the problems of the world. Chester and Clifford had to do it alone last year.
In the months since Mom has been gone, I've been wondering about Thanksgiving dinner. We had somehow managed to set the table after Dad passed away, and Carl and Ethel and Levern, but how would this be possible without Mama?
I imagined we would just not, until my sister-in-law Debbie suggested we have the Olson family at the Hill for Thanksgiving, it being a convenient half-way meeting place for several of them. We had had a birthday party there together that had gone well, and they had all been so kind in so many ways, helping with projects around the farm. Hmm, I had thought. That'd be different. An Olson Thanksgiving at Minnesota Hill. The idea grew on me and I started making lists. Things would be different. I thought about Chester and Eleanor and Clifford. It would be crowded and there would be unfamiliar people there. Maybe I should invite them for a meal before Thanksgiving or the Sunday after? This seemed like a reasonable, practical idea. I hated it.
Grief manifests itself in so many ways. At times you want to cling to the way things were and make sure nothing changes. At other times, you are tempted to try to make clean breaks with the past and do everything differently. I suppose that is the hard work of grief, sorting through what's left.
The guest list for Thanksgiving dinner is as follows: Joe, Bonnie, Paul, David, Sarah, Bill, Arlene, Elliott, Grandma Erliss, Chester, Eleanor, Clifford, Shelly, Eileen, David, Deb, Adam and Allan. And maybe Mary. Possibly Emil. Oh, and Mojo the English Bulldog and Max the Mighty Mutt. Things will be different. We'll serve buffet-style. The plates will be Chinette. The stuffing will be Stove Top. I wonder if Clifford will bring flatbread?
