I know somewhere there is sun, but there will be none here today. To add to dreary, a bit of rain is forecast for tonight, and it will rain tomorrow. It is in the low 50’s, but that strong breeze, dare I say wind, is still here making the air feel colder. None of us love this weather.

One of my strongest memories of Thanksgiving is how the aroma of cooking turkey filled the house especially when my mother would open the oven door to baste the turkey. She’d also steal a bit of the crusty stuffing hanging out of the bird, maybe as an award for the basting. The best part was it would get crusty again so I could also steal a bit. The turkey was always cooked in the same huge pan, the blue one with white dots. I don’t remember anything else cooked in that pan.

My father had two official Thanksgiving responsibilities. Both involved the turkey. He would pull the heavy pan out of the oven and put it on the counter. He’d then take the turkey out of the pan. It was a delicate operation. The turkey was huge and hot. He’d grab pot holders and hold the turkey on each side and hope for the best, that the turkey would stay intact. It always did. My father was also the official carver. He’d fill the plate with cut turkey, including the legs. He’d always say, “There’s more in the kitchen.”

I have uke practice tonight from the Christmas book. We have officially finished with bluegrass. Tomorrow I have my lesson, and we have our first Christmas concert. I need to gather my Christmas accessories, my fascinator, my red shirt, my Christmas socks and my red Converse sneakers. I also need my noise makers, the bells and buzzers. I’ll be festive and loud.

The day has yet to make up its mind between cloudy and sunny. The official weather report is partly cloudy, but right now I’d say it is partly sunny. The air is chilly at 46° because of the strong wind. We are all inside the warm house lazily passing away the morning.

When I was a kid, I always liked this week with only a couple and a half days of school, and you couldn’t even count the half as we didn’t do school work but usually colored turkeys or made Thanksgiving cards. I raced home thrilled to be out of school.

I remember the giant turkey defrosting in the fridge. It took up half the space. Wednesday was pie day. We always had apple, lemon meringue and sometimes pumpkin or custard pies. My mother would make the dough and roll it out on the counter. I remember flour covered the counter. I remember how wonderful the kitchen smelled. I can see the apple pie crust with just the right amount of brown. The lemon meringue was tall, and it too had just the right amount of browning on the top crests. With the pieces of dough left over my mother made turds, my father’s name for the pastry. She’d cut a piece of dough, add cinnamon and sugar then roll the dough and bake it. We didn’t have to wait for Thanksgiving to eat it. It was a Wednesday treat.

In those days there were no shortcuts. My mother made everything. One of my favorites was creamed onions. I remember she peeled every small onion. Her stuffing was always rich with sage, with Bell’s seasoning. I still use Bell’s. It always reminds me of my mother. No Thanksgiving was complete without mashed potatoes. My mother used a hand masher. I watched. She worked hard to get rid of the lumps. She always added milk and lots of butter. We had carrots, canned peas and, for my father, canned asparagus. None of the rest of us ate it. The cranberry sauce was decorated, at least I thought so back then. I didn’t realize the decorations were ridges from the can. Her gravy was the stuff of legend. As we got older and our palates expanded, my mother added more vegetables. She made my aunt’s squash dish. It became my favorite vegetable. Sometimes we had turnip, green bean casserole, another Thanksgiving staple, and baked sweet potatoes.

I have always loved Thanksgiving. It is a celebration of family, of all of us sitting around the table together, passing the food, filling our plates and enjoying each other’s company. We just needed each other and a few pies.