The earliest memories, pictures really, included grandma and grandpa on my mom’s side joining us for a roasted bird. Grandma in her wheelchair, a considerable woman with horn rimmed eyeglasses that made her head appear comically large. He, long and lean with little hair left on his head, very mild mannered, with an earnest face. One of the few times we used the dining room throughout the year. I never really knew these grandparents as they passed before I was afforded the opportunity.

In my early teenage YA days, we did a lot of Thanksgivings at the beach. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to the Washington coast in November, but gray just about describes it perfectly. Those days were spent, in of all places, a little town aptly named Grayland. We stayed in a little motel out near the highway, but walking distance to the ocean. I never really understood going to the beach for that particular holiday, but there was turkey, and mashed potatoes, and football, and long walks in the rain out to the sand, and family. Maybe it was my parents trying to squeeze a mini “vacation” into the four days off. We went with another family so extra kids, and extra kids meant broken windows from hard flung open freezer doors, burnt fiery jiffy pop, more than a few hours/games of pong, tether ball in the rain, and using left over 4th of July firecrackers to blow up army men on the beach.

Mom was never a great cook. Adequate, sure. Dad roasted the turkey, low and slow, getting up at 5 AM to drop the bird in the oven. Mom made your basic mash and a store bought stuffing. Dad sliced the bird with one of those electric knives from the 60’s and dropped it on a china platter. Half the plate dark, half the plate white. Good enough with some extra salt and smothered in gravy. There were sweet potatoes cooked in brown sugar with marshmallows and store bought pumpkin pie. The dinner rolls dipped in over-buttered mashed potatoes were the best.

After pop died I took over the cooking duties for a growing extended family. Doing my best to cover the basics and getting better year over year, the harshest culinary critic myself. Trying old recipes gave way to new inspired choices and twists on tradition. Today we get together with friends and family and everything that is old is new again. Just stay out of my kitchen and we’ll be fine…