Linda Stoll: Porch #69 * Happy Thanksgiving, Aunt Ruth

PORCH
a soft place to land
a calm weekend haven
a gentle pause from life's busyness
so we may experience
the tender lovingkindness of Jesus
as we do life together
in community

Ready or not, here they come! The holidays.

Who among us hasn't lived with not a small amount of apprehension, angst, and anxiety over the thought of pulling together a scrumptious 50 course meal with all the trimmings that has to be identical to Aunt Ruth's from 60 years ago?

Dressed in pearls, carefully coiffed hair, her lipstick fresh, looking stunning in the loveliest dresses and prettiest aprons, she single-handedly whipped up yearly holiday feasts for dozens of far-flung family members the likes of which will never be replicated by this generation or the ones to come.

I have no idea what it cost her year after year and I don't mean financially. But she (and my uncle) pulled it off with such grace. I always picture her laughing. I loved her so much. But I'm afraid I'm not from the same gene pool.

My sister and I have decided to keep it super simple this year. Chicken pies from one of the Cape's best bakeries. Cranberry sauce, rolls, gravy, a side dish or two.

And hopefully, a decadent dessert.

As much as we might long for the good old days, the stark fact is that so many of our favorite family members are no longer with us. It's sad and yes, we miss them more than ever on the holidays. We linger with the fond memories and the fine legacy, we'll regale each other with hysterical stories and yes, maybe shed a few tears.

But for sanity's sake and to honor who they were, we move into the reality of where we find ourselves here in 2022.

We can't turn back the clock, nor would we want to. But we can make decisions that recognize who we are right now and focus on creating new memories with the next generation who wouldn't know Aunt Ruth from Adam.

And yes, we're using the loveliest Thanksgiving paper goods you ever did see. I'm imagining that a few ancestors might be turning over in their graves. But I make no apologies to anyone.

It's all common sense. It's all grace. These are the good old days.

🦃