A Tiny Thanksgiving + NostalgiaFriday, November 27, 2015
I walk up the cracked concrete steps, through the brown front door of the pink, adobe-brick house that has lived through a century of family, and head into my parents' house. She'll greet me with a smile from the kitchen or her sewing room, with her sing-song “Hel-low" and we’ll smile at each other. We'll gather around the kitchen island made from a wooden pub-height table, and I'll make my toast with butter and cinnamon sugar from a shaker that is older than I am. We'll laugh and talk about my drive and the goings on of life while I eat my sugary toast.
I sit here, now, writing this, eating veggies off a veggie plate complete with black olives -- a signature dish of our Thanksgivings at her house. Veggie plates just aren't complete without baby dill pickles and black olives. The kitchen is clean in preparation for our steak dinner tonight. Justin and the cats are all sleeping in opposite parts of the house, and I'm writing and listening to relaxing music. Our dinner tonight will be a low-key, candlelit meal on her fancy dishes that I've now inherited. We'll start our own traditions, and carry on some of hers, and life will go on. We'll celebrate more holidays with family, and we will laugh and have merriment. It will always be obvious that she's not here anymore to celebrate with us, but they will still be awesome nonetheless. We have so much more life to live, she'd want that.