When I was a kid we had two kinds of Thanksgivings, the ones with the extended family and the ones with just the four of us. Over the years we would sometimes get together with my mom's two brothers and their families for Thanksgiving, but not every year.
Left, about 1968 or '69, with my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. I am in front wearing blue pants and a red jacket.
The holidays with the extended family were always fun, because my mom and both aunts and my grandmother were all wonderful cooks. Nobody has ever equaled my mom's homemade dressing, as I explained in an article for The Cook's Cook a couple of years ago, Enjoy Elva's Cornbread Dressing. I was unaware there was anything other than cornbread dressing until I was almost grown. One year when it was just the four of us, Mom made a small pan of oyster dressing in addition to the standard one. It was delicious, but not something she did every year. In addition to the dressing, the Hasty Thanksgivings also included the standards: turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, pies.
The BEST Thanksgiving was in 1970, when the family gathered at Amicalola Falls in North Georgia, and rented a cabin in the mountains. I slept on the floor in the main room with my cousins, in a sleeping bag, but I didn't mind. I got to play with my cousin Linda, and my brother played with Bill, her twin. We were all happy to be together. The food was marvelous, too, of course.
One of the highlights was my uncle Don showing all of us a cassette tape recorder. In 1970 that was hi tech, exciting stuff! He worked in the corporate office of GE and always got to use the latest techno wizardry. He recorded all of us kids, and some grownups, talking about the weekend. Years later, he and my aunt found that tape and had copies made and sent a copy to each family. I still have it. It's one of my most prized possessions. A few years ago I played the tape on an old boombox and I recorded a snippet of my grandmother's voice and it's stored now on my desktop, where I can listen to it any time. I love hearing her voice again.
Linda recently sent me a copy of some of the home movies her dad made that weekend and I got such a kick out of seeing those. I had forgotten that I was a Hot Mess. I am constantly turning cartwheels and jumping around and pretending to be a ballerina. I had forgotten I was such a lively kid.
My grandmother was a prankster, all her life, and I never really knew that until that weekend. The second night, she announced she was going to bed early, then snuck out of the cabin and went to her car and put on some old clothes and a wig and hat, and then came and knocked on the door, cigarette dangling, and asked my cousin Robert for a light. (She wasn't a smoker, in reality.) Always polite, he said "I'm sorry I don't have one, but maybe my dad can help." My uncle Bobby appeared, took one look, and knew it was Memaw. He kept bending down to see her face, and she kept dropping her head down because she didn't want him to see it was her, which was pretty hilarious (we all agreed later) because Bobby was 6'3 and Memaw was 4'11! I stood back and watched it all, fascinated. Years later, long after Memaw had died, Mom told me of some of her escapades as a young girl and even as a young mother, including dressing up as a vagrant for Halloween, with a friend, and playing practical jokes on all the neighbors.
The summer before that had been particularly awful for our little family. My mother had been in the hospital, very ill with blood clots in her legs, Daddy had to have emergency hemorrhoid surgery, my brother had been horribly bullied at school, and I had been sick with pneumonia for 3 weeks. Thanksgiving with the family was a welcome change.
The Thanksgiving in the mountains was the last time all of us would be together with my Memaw and Papa Hasty. We didn't know it then, but in January of 1971 our family would move to Knoxville, Tennessee, and be about 4 hours' drive from my grandparents, and my uncle Bobby and his family. About 18 months later my grandfather would die, as a complication of surgery on his hip.
In the coming years there would only be a couple of get-togethers of all the Hastys, as the distances were too great, then of course all of my generation grew up and scattered across several states.
So that was the best Thanksgiving.
The worst Thanksgiving was actually comical, in hindsight.
My brother married a lady who I won't name here but she was very strange. I think she was Bipolar, or something. She was always making crazy plans that she insisted would come to pass but they never did. After my father died, around 1997 or 1998, my brother and sister in law came to my mother's house in Augusta for Thanksgiving. They had no children, but two dogs, who came with them, all in one car. Mom and I were there, working on the big meal to be shared that night. We were all in the kitchen, talking. Sis said that on Christmas she and my brother would be in Colorado, either in a hotel or camping. That struck me as odd because my brother hates camping, and Colorado is a long way from South Carolina.
After my sister in law made her bizarre announcement, I looked at my mother, and she looked stricken. Mom always wanted her children home on Christmas -- the only time she was really insistent on that.
I said "Have you all made reservations? Booked flights?" I suspected it was just another wild idea. Oh no, she said, but it was going to happen. I said "Well couldn't you just wait until the day after Christmas maybe? or before Christmas, so y'all could be with us on Christmas Day??"
"But we want to go to Colorado for Christmas!" she insisted. I looked at my brother's face, and he looked super annoyed, like this crazy plan was news to him.
"I'm not saying don't go, I'm just saying be flexible with the dates," I said.
I wasn't yelling. I wasn't visibly angry, just annoyed. I knew my mother was on the verge of tears, anticipating two holidays being ruined by my sister in law -- a new record, for her.
Instead of engaging in a discussion, sister just screamed at me "You are SUCH a BITCH! We're leaving!" and she grabbed her two dogs, and her car keys, and hustled out the back door. I had never seen her move that fast. My brother looked horrified. "I'm sorry, Mom. I would stay but I'd have no way to get back to Columbia," he apologized. He had to literally run out the door, as his wife was already backing down the driveway. He told us later he had to yell at her to get her to stop so he could get in!
So that year it was just me and Mom, and Mom was very upset. I think we ended up just eating canned soup or sandwiches.
Fortunately, a couple of years later my brother divorced the Crazy Lady.
The one really good thing to result from that awful Thanksgiving? I never saw my sister in law again. Haven't see her since, and that was about 25 years ago. I hope I never see her again. My brother divorced her but they stayed friends. They still occasionally meet for lunch. She actually had the nerve to tell him she wanted to be friends with Mom again, about 15 years ago. Brother mentioned it when visiting us. Mom said NO WAY. She had welcomed my sister in law to the family and treated her like her own child, but when Elva was done with someone, she was DONE. She never forgot, did forgive eventually, but was quite capable of cutting someone entirely out of her life when they didn't act right.
I think sis was/is mentally ill, and my brother eventually came to agree with me. I did exact a little revenge though, as only a writer can. In one of my books there is a character that is a total screwup, an obnoxious young woman who acts like a ho, and I gave her my sister in law's name.
To all y'all out there, I hope your Thanksgiving is lovely, and you are with family and/or friends. It will just be me and my son, and that's fine. We will just eat a lot [pork roast, as we aren't wild about turkey] and watch movies all day.
Check out my new novel Dancing in the Wreckage, on Amazon
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