Can you feel Thanksgiving past?

CATHARINE COOPER

Thanksgiving: 1956.

Accordion music? Well, why not. It’s Edna, my father’s mother, and

she loves to play. She plops her mink coat on the couch, pulls the

mysterious instrument from its case and transforms the room with

music and her infectious giggle. Her golden blond hair sparkles in

the late afternoon light, as her red-toed shoes tap a beat in time to

the stretch of the musical instrument’s diaphragm. My brother, sister

and I (we are 5, 4 and 7 respectively) sit attentively at her feet,

mesmerized by this woman who is our grandmother (although we are

certainly not allowed to call her such).

This is our first Thanksgiving in Laguna Beach. Our new two-story

home sits at the top of Ledroit Lane, resplendent in its soft yellow

shake siding. The house is 75 years old, and the wiring and plumbing

are suspect, but we are thrilled to be “in� after a couple of months

of apartment living while waiting for escrow to close. The land feels

enormous; my childhood mind thinks it must be acres and acres of

property. There is a fruit orchard in the back and a huge lawn in

front, shadowed by towering eucalyptus trees. The drive to the house

is narrow and private. It’s as if we have landed in our own personal

world.

The kitchen is filled with the powerful scents of the cooking. A

turkey nears the end of its roasting, browned and inviting, and my

mother, wrapped in a checked gingham apron, stands before a large pan

pressing the boiled potatoes to a mashed form. Her mother, Gretchen,

stirs the gravy, while Catharine, my great-grandmother and namesake,

adds fresh oranges to the fruit salad.

In the living room, beside the live musical entertainment, my

father mixes drinks while telling endless stories of Cadillacs and

real estate. My mother’s father, Harold, nods respectively. Jack,

Edna’s life partner, a round and jolly man, asks the usual questions

of us kids. “Are we doing well in school? Are we staying out of

trouble?� We look at each other, gulp down our mischievous smiles and

nod as we answer, “Yes, Sir.� Ice cubes clink in the grown-up’s dark

cocktails of bourbon or scotch, and the air is thick with their

collective cigarette smoke.

I am commandeered to the kitchen to help with dinner. Plates are

heaped with turkey, potatoes, gravy, beans, yams, salad and rolls,

and carefully I carry each to the big dining room table set for the

occasion. The white lacy tablecloth is decorated with flowers and

white candles, and is covered with side dishes of olives, pickles and

cranberries. There are two special butter dishes with their own tiny

knives, and earlier, I helped mom set the table with the fancy

silver.

My father sits at the head of the table; my mother sits opposite

at the other. The kids and the grandparents fill in the spaces on

both sides. I am honored to sit next to my great-grandfather, Adolf,

a German immigrant, now in his late 80s and for the most part, quiet.

I like how his hands are a bit rough, but always re-assuring. I know,

that after dinner, I’ll be allowed to sit in his lap and listen to

his carefully chosen words of wisdom.

We join hands, close our eyes and for a moment, a silence takes

the chatter out of the room. Thankfulness fills all of our hearts,

not just for the meal, but for the gift of life and the full joy of

being together. I know that I am luckier than most to have so many of

my grandparents with which to share the holiday.

We come together, as do families all across the country, to share

in this uniquely American holiday which honors our beginnings. We

open our hearts to one another with love, and put down disagreements

for these few hours of thanksgiving. I cherish these memories, and

have committed each year to creating new ones, which are rich and

equally treasured.

This year, an extended family, replete with the addition of good

friends, will fill our Laguna home with food, joy and laughter. I

shall miss the accordion and its blond musician, but its music and

her memory will echo in my heart. I’m sure, my father will continue

to bless us with yet another story and my mother will wrap me in her

warm smile and knowing arms.

Our prayers will include the dream that peace may reign upon this

planet, and that hunger and disease maybe put to rest.

May your holidays be filled with laughter, love and joy.

* CATHARINE COOPER maybe reached at [email protected].