The afterglow of thanksgiving

A few weeks ago for Thanksgiving I had sixteen people for dinner. All family. I brought in a table from the barn. I brought chairs home from the studio for a night. Years ago this was a normal thing. We were always a big number but since all our children have grown our celebration tables have gotten quieter. And so on this night there was so much appreciation in being together. 

My daughter helped me prepare the table. The table was set with small white pumpkins, white candles and my old blue willow dishes that I got at k-Mart for $16 a set when I first bought this house. Emily and Bridget brought flowers for the table when they came. 

The turkey came from the Atkinson farm that lies above the Tantramar Marsh. The carrots from my sister-in-laws garden. The pickles and relish were brought to me by one of the women in this falls workshop. I made the blueberry pie. Someone brought a cream cake, and there were a couple of pumpkin pies from Cranewood in Sackville.

I mashed the potatoes with a brick of cream cheese and put them on low in the slow cooker to keep them warm and ensure their deliciousness. The food was served quick and hot. Grace was said. The fire roared in the wood stove. Wine was poured over the chatter and hum of the pleasure of being together. 

And weeks later that night is still resonating with me. For that is what a good gathering does. It gets carried around with you like a sweet hum as you go about your regular life. It nourishes you and sustains you. A few hours together lasts for weeks afterward. The glow of it remains long after the last glasses are cleared from the table, the chairs returned to town, and the old table put back in the barn. 

Celebration and ritual are an important part of our human lives. Our small brief lives need the beauty of gathering to mark our time here. Birthday parties, holidays, awards, accomplishments are meant to be taken hold of and marked as something special. Sometimes it is a gathering of just two to acknowledge something important. As long as it is done with love and intention it can be enough. Yet when we allow others to celebrate with us, when we open the doors to our homes a little, so do our hearts open as well. Hospitality changes a house and it changes us. It makes me understand why I have kept those sixteen plates for thirty years. It softened me. It made me see that the fire really does glow when it lights up a room full of people.

The sun is about to come up now so I really must go get ready for the days. The spruce are still black but soon it will be day. Another day to make. Another day to stay open to the world around me. A day is a prayer that we move through when we are thankful for it. And I am.