Today is in the low 40’s. There was a crispness in the air when I let the dogs out to the yard. Last night got cold. The sun and the clouds are sharing the sky for now, but rain is predicted for tomorrow so the sun will disappear behind the grey clouds. There is a wind advisory, but nothing is moving.

I officially recognized the change in seasons yesterday. I packed summer away and brought out my fall and winter clothes. I seem to be heavily into flannel.

My father was always a football fan. He and my grandfather used to go to the Thanksgiving Day football game in town although none of us ever attended the local high school, including my parents. It was tradition.

We stayed home on Thanksgiving. My father watched football. My mother worked in the kitchen. Dinner was usually around two. Our kitchen, when I was young, was small. The six of us couldn’t all fit around the table at the same time. I think that was when my mother first started standing and eating at the counter.

When we had a house of our own, we always ate in the dining room. The table was festive. We all could fit around the table.

Thanksgiving dinner seldom varied from year to year. We knew we’d eat turkey, stuffing, canned cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, gravy, peas and maybe corn, kernel corn. My father got asparagus, from the can. It always looked wilted and bent over in the middle. He always ate the turkey leg. I can still see him in the mind’s eye munching on that leg.

After dinner my father would take his piece of pie into the living room where he could watch the football game. He was a loud fan. He’d yell at the TV and complain about a play or a misplay. He was a Giants fan.

I always loved supper on Thanksgiving night. My mother made open turkey sandwiches awash with gravy. I’d add stuffing and cranberry sauce to my plate. That would be our first of many meals of leftover Thanksgiving dinner.

Today is winter. Right now it is 39° with a strong wind which makes it feel even colder. I watched the leaves blown by the wind hopping and skipping across the front lawn and whirling into the air. The sun comes and goes.

When I was a kid, my mother always bought a huge turkey, a giant turkey. She roasted it in the same pan every Thanksgiving. The pan was oval. It was blue with white dots. The turkey just about fit into the pan. She used to have to remove one of the oven racks so the pan with the turkey could fit into the oven. She was up really early Thanksgiving morning to stuff the turkey. Her stuffing was rich with sage. When I woke up, I could always smell the baking turkey. In the kitchen the windows were wet with steam. My mother struggled to get the pan a bit out of the oven so she could baste the turkey. She used a giant plastic syringe to suck up the juice to use to baste the turkey. She’d rub the skin with butter. I remember how golden the skin looked.

Before the big day, my mother baked her pies. Every mother baked pies. My mother made her own buttery crust rolling it out on the floured counter. She’d bake an apple, my father’s favorite, and a lemon meringue, my favorite. If there was a third pie, it was pumpkin or custard. I preferred the custard though I’d eat the pumpkin. My mother put whipped cream on the pumpkin slices. My father put cheddar cheese on the apple. My mother also offered ice cream atop the apple, but I ate my slice plain. I have never fancied ice cream on pies or cakes.

My father’s only responsibilities on Thanksgiving were to take the turkey out of the pan and slice it. My mother did everything else. She’d put the pan across two burners so she could make the gravy. It was always deliciously thick. I used to watch her make it, and I have always made my gravy the same way, the same with the stuffing. Bell’s seasoning was all she used in the stuffing. It has rosemary, oregano, sage, ginger, marjoram, thyme, and pepper and, for me and my sisters, it is the taste of my mother’s stuffing. Before my sister was able to find it in Colorado, we used to have to send Bell’s to her. I have a baster just like my mother had.

Traditions are big and small.