Giving Thanks
...koned to me with their fall rainbow of leaves including rich Red, seasoned Orange, and vibrant Yellow. The beautiful foliage reminded me of decorations hung up for a party. When I reached that driveway I knew that in a few moments I would be a part of a huge family celebration. Awaiting me inside the house would be a hustle and bustle of loud, laughing voices. I couldn’t wait to be a part of the happy commotion. As soon as my parents parked our car my sister, brother, and I burst out of the back seat. We were not only greeted by their ancient cat Brandy, but also by a wonderful sense of excitement. The November air was a crisp. A cool breeze blew through my jean jacket and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. In the air I caught the familiar scent of my Grandmother’s Italian home cooking, which mingled with the smoke from their chimney. I ran up the cobblestone pathway, crunching dozens of acorns and pinecones under my sneakers as I made my way to the front door. As I reached the top step of the porch and flung open the door, my Grandfather was standing inside the house waiting for me. He lifted me into his embrace and shouted “Mickey McLissa!” which was his own nickname for me, his youngest grandchild. Throughout the house, the energy was humming. The other grandkids and I ran through the house playing tag amongst the mouth watering smell of baked apple pie and hot pumpkin pie which mingled to lend a little spice and warmth to the senses. Immediately I was drawn to the snack table, stuffing my cheeks like a chipmunk full of the holiday colored M&M’s or whatever else I could reach. Grandma's kitchen is where the real action took place. My mother and the other women in the family helped my Grandmother put the finishing touches on the festive meal and side dishes. Amid happy chatter and clanking dishes they worked, and caught up on each other's lives and families. Through the years, I became curious as to what exactly those ladies were doing in that kitchen! I would pull up a chair to the little round kitchen table. While I watched and listened I would sneak a taste here and there of the steaming dishes around me. There were fresh fluffy rolls, bowls of sweet yellow corn, whole green beans with bacon, mashed turnips, creamy mashed potatoes and home made brown gravy, just to name a few. I couldn’t identify all of the different dishes prepared and the spices used, but the aroma was so wonderful I would close my eyes and deeply breathe it in. Once the side dishes were ready and the food was all laid out on the table in a family style fashion, Grandma grandly announced that the meal was ready. Everyone rushed in a small stamped to the dining room. We were all unable to wait a moment longer to sample Grandma’s fine cooking. Everyone took his or her places, but no one dared to touch the food until Grandpa arrived with the turkey. Grandpa would ceremoniously walk into the dining room with the prized bird steaming on a platter. The turkey was baked to perfection and it’s skin glistened a rich golden brown. Grace was said and we all patiently waited for the meal to begin. As always, my Grandfather did the honors and carved the giant turkey. The parade of steaming dishes was then passed around the table amidst our loud, happy voices. After everyone finished eating (and were probably wishing they had worn some pants with an elastic waist!) most of the male relatives made their way to the cozy, fire lit living room to watch football. The ladies found themselves once again in the kitchen scraping plates, loading the dishwasher, and scouring the pots and pans. As for the kids, we ran outside to play in fear of being ask...