A Christmas Story

Thanksgiving always reminds me of a little house in the woods of North Florida. And of trying to pick out the right pine cones to paint and shower with glitter and set into a plaster of Paris stand. Remember that class Christmas project?

Uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters. Friends, neighbors, former business associates of my parents all gathered for a day of friendship and feasting.

And music! Someone would always play the guitar or harmonica. And someone always brought Christmas records.

Food! Three salads, at least two meats, pies and candy, rolls, stuffing, potatoes, baked macaroni and cheese, cranberry sauce, pork pilau, and wonderful sauces.

And with all that, my aunt would ask "Should I open a can of peas? Or do you think this will be enough?!"

Bless her heart, we had to force her to sit down and allow us to wait on ourselves. She had retired from the restaurant business and

1. never learned to cut her recipes,

2. She absolutely loved to entertain!

The more the merrier, my parents would say. Both had seen some hard times during the Depression and never forgot to lend a hand or give an encouraging word.

Nor did they forget, during the blessing, to honor ancestors and friends long gone.

There was a wealth of stories shared at all our Thanksgiving dinners. Some of the stories made you laugh. Others made you want to weep. Some did a little of both.

The one my mother told about the Christmas present was like that. She, her brothers and two younger cousins had gotten together months ahead of time.

Pooling their savings, a penny here and there squeezed out of the most meager resources, they sought to buy my grandmother a really nice present.

Finally, a few weeks before Christmas they spotted the perfect one in a department store. It was a fine black leather purse with an elegant looking strap. Suitable for business or church, it would surprise and delight their mother. (Leather was very expensive and hard to come by in those days, when many traveled the byways in search of work and a meal.)

The special day arrived, and the family crowded around my grandmother as she unwrapped the best kept secret of the century.

But when grandma saw what was in the package, she started to laugh hysterically. She almost couldn't stop laughing and had to hold on to the dining room table as she stumbled with great guffaws and hisses.

At length, my mother began to worry her mom was suffering from a nervous break down or fit of some sort.

After a long moment of wiping her eyes and catching her breath, Grandmother finally explained to the astounded children,

"I don't have one red cent to put into this beautiful hand bag!"

She then began to laugh again, as did the entire clan.

Such is the way my family chose to deal with some of those hardest of times.

This Thanksgiving Day, it is my hope that my own children and grand kids, will always be able to kick adversity square in the pants, remembering the good times

with a smile.