Thanksgiving 2020

 For obvious reasons, Maharajah and I will not be hosting our annual Thanksgiving feast, so that leaves me with just my thoughts this year--and it's debatable whether that's a good thing or not.

As I type this, I am still in the process of healing from a traumatic kitchen injury wherein I cut 50% of the finger nail & nail bed from my index finger (of my non-dominant hand). The injury took place around lunch time on Election Day--so it was a great distraction from all that fuckery, and it's made simple things like wiping my ass or typing this blog post far more challenging than it should be.

My grandmother died in 1990 after a seven year battle with oral cancer. Thanksgivings were either at her home or ours, and there's a lot of overlap in memories.

We always had a full house. An insane amount of family, immediate and extended. The food was always excessive, even when we were broke in the late 70s and early 80s.

The menu was a collection of favorites. Mom always started dinner with a first course of either ravioli or lasagne, and trays of olives and pickles and Italian cheeses were on the table always.

Mom's sister always made stuffed mushrooms, and my grandfather made a tray of his Italian stuffing which was loaded with a half dozen eggs, raisins, diced pepperoni and diced cheese. Mom usually made a bucket of her own stuffing which was a sad concoction and usually too watery and not heavily seasoned enough.

When my grandmother was alive, things I recall on her table were a 50/50 mix of mashed potatoes and mashed turnips, as well as a bowl of boiled cauliflower with melted velveeta on top. Others were fussy so she always had to have a spare bowl of mashed potatoes on the table because not everyone was fond of "neeps."

My sister only preferred string beans (from a can), and my brother-in-law preferred corn niblets (also from a can). I don't recall anyone eating them.

There were usually sweet potatoes or canned candied yams, too. Gravy that was grey and equally disappointing as mom's stuffing. And canned cranberry jelly, dislodged into mom's cut crystal bowl with the ridges still in tact.

My brother preferred ham, so on occasion he'd show up with a spiral cut ham.

Lastly, the turkey. The turkey was always a dessicated affair. So dry you'd really NEED the gravy to rehydrate it enough to choke it back. The turkey would go in the oven early in the morning, cook too long, be carved up and put back in the oven to keep warm until people showed up at 2 p.m.

Desserts were obscene. Given the food allergies and dietary restrictions of the crowd there were usually EASILY 1-2 dozen pies, plus a tray of Italian pastries--though the latter might be a memory fragment from Christmas.

There had to be pies made with sugar and sugar substitutes because 1/2 the group were diabetic, and at least two people were allergic to sugar substitutes. Nothing could contain mint or coconut as my uncle loathed those. And there had to be pies or desserts clearly indicated as having nuts or no nuts as my brother and a cousin were both allergic. 

When I married Maharajah in 2001, his dietary issues further diversified things with his lactose intolerance.  I believe for a time we alternated years with my family as well as his cousin's for Thanksgiving. It's all a blur now, and although I remember attending Christmas 2007, I don't recall if I attended Thanksgiving, too--as it was the last one before dad died in 2008. I didn't attend in 2008 or 2009 as mom made a big morose show of things. I think I attended 2010 and alternated the following year with M's cousin. The last Xmas party I attended was in 2014--and then there was the Great Silence between me and my sister (caused mostly by mom). 

I started having my own Thanksgiving feasts at my home, where I could control the menu and invited who I wanted. And in 2017 when my sister and I reconciled, I invited her to the feast, which she accepted with great skepticism. She attended in 2018, too, realizing for the first time that the holiday COULD be nice, and not require her to slave away in someone else's kitchen.

Last year, my sister didn't attend due to her husband's bout with thyroid cancer. And this year I am not hosting the feast at all due to mom's death, as well as the death of 3 relatives of M (all due to COVID), and sadly, yesterday my sister's sister-in-law died after having a catastrophic stroke. 

While we DO have a lot to be grateful for, we HAVE suffered a lot of loss this year. Life had its own set of challenges before COVID, but living through this pandemic has taken its toll.

Mom died of COVID, and despite that, our brother is an anti-masker who believes the virus was created by our government to see how pliable people are and how quickly they give up their liberties. 

I've been processing a lot in the last 4 years of Trump but especially this past year and came to this conclusion: If someone's religion or politics hinges directly on oppressing or subjugating (or even killing) me or my loved ones, it is not only naive for me to look the other way--IT IS ALSO DANGEROUS. 

When both parents are finally gone, your world becomes a lot smaller, and you want to put more value in those left behind, with whom you share a long history; however, I feel my brother is a lost cause. I had to block him on my cell as even texting is too stressful for me. 

I don't know what to make of this blog post, but as shitty as it is to experience "The Year of Firsts" after mom died--it seems fitting and almost appropriate that I wouldn't have a feast this year--and I'm glad I can't have a feast this year. My heart isn't in it.