Friday Tidings

Live as long as I have and you’ll gather quite a few Thanksgivings to reflect upon. This photo was taken on Thanksgiving Day, 1989—the first year we spent in what we believed would be our forever home. Tom, dressed in his wedding tuxedo of all things, is carrying in the turkey from the old outdoor oven my grandmother gave us. And yes, he’s also on the phone. That phone line was our tether to a livelihood—constant, necessary, even on Thanksgiving. Selling apples meant the holidays were hectic. Deliveries had to be perfectly timed for store sales, and that afternoon Tom was making last-minute changes for apples that had just arrived in Tennessee. But look at his smile—the ease with which he talked, balanced a turkey, and somehow kept his tuxedo spotless. That year held other gifts too. Mom came to spend Thanksgiving with us, and I was pregnant. A new home, Mom’s visit, and the quiet hope of a baby arriving in the coming year—so much to be thankful for. But there was something else ...

My granddaughter has recently started peppering me for stories from when I was a young girl. It’s been fun to look back and share some of my foibles, lessons, and laughter with her. One afternoon, we were sitting at her dining table while she munched on a few of my homemade biscuits. Watching her enjoy them reminded me of another story—a biscuit story from long ago. I was about ten, and I belonged to a 4-H club that focused on cooking and sewing. For the county fair, I decided to bake biscuits. I loved making them and carefully followed the recipe each time. When it came time for judging, I carried my three biscuits on the required white paper plate and left them for the fair officials to taste. A few days later, I returned to find a blue ribbon beside my biscuits! My 4-H leader told me I could enter my biscuits in State Fair if I wanted to—and I really did. My parents drove me to the fairgrounds, where I placed my plate among hundreds of other baking entries. When I came back to ...

Okay, I’ll begin with a quick poll. Would you prefer to enjoy your family and friend gatherings around a crowded table, or would you prefer to dine with a bit more elbow room? There’s no wrong answer—just a personal preference, and that’s absolutely fine. I grew up in a small home with a two-seat kitchen bar for breakfast, and a dining table where Mom, Dad, my sister, and I sat each evening. But when the holidays came, both sets of grandparents, and my great-grandfather would crowd around our table. Dad would add a card table at the end, and Mom covered it with a festive tablecloth. This is what the holidays meant—elbow to elbow, full plates, and dessert waiting even if I didn’t eat all my veggies. For me, the crowding is part of the joy. But, maybe I’m idealizing a childhood memory that literally doesn’t fit as well now. So, friends—what do you think? Crowded or spacious?  Whatever you choose, may you be surrounded by love.