One of the sweetest things about having our first Thanksgiving here in our new home is how much everyone in our family helped to make it happen. My daughter, who was in charge of the dessert we collectively chose (carrot cake), buttered, traced, measured, and frosted. My husband acted as the most fabulous sous chef and official kitchen beautifier, and my two year old son made two different cranberry sauces for our feast. He proudly announced this to us at least twenty times an hour. It gave me a flashback.
Around the time of my first Thanksgiving in New York, having come for university, I had such a hard time just being here. Coming from Georgia, with its warmish weather and lush trees, I felt homesick for a home that no longer existed. My family had up and moved to California three days after I graduated from high school. It felt as though the ground was constantly shifting underneath me. And the ground was hard. It was concrete. It was cold and dirty.
A kind soul gave me a practice at this time to try and find the beauty in everything. Everything. Even, as he said, the dog poop on the sidewalk. At first, trying to find the beauty was impossible. My heart kept rebelling, kicking its little feet and throwing mini-tantrums, but slowly a new sight started to emerge. Over time and thirteen years later, I can see it, the beauty in everything around me. And, as it turns out, the dog poop was easy compared to some other things and people.
Yesterday, as the children and my husband were taking a pre-meal nap, I was left alone to iron the linens and set the table. As I pushed that iron back and forth, I was thinking about my ancestors, both the Native American and the Europeans, contemplating what happened when that blood mixed in them, in my grandparents, in my parents, in me, in my children. The heartbreak of a people leaving their home, of whole people brutally losing their home, and the way that they had to pick up and keep living.
I hope that I am bringing something through for them, healing something that rifted long ago. Coming out on the other side of all that pain and learning to heal what my ancestors passed to me, there has emerged something so precious: gratitude.
