Sharing Love Through Food, Wine, Music, Dance.....and Ping Pong!

Thanks, Steve, for the wholesome post title, (my first attempt was "Dance, Drink and Dink Around) and Laurie Gerloff's photo, above,  which says it all. Ping pong and dancing were temporarily suspended so the feast and toasting could proceed apace. Nothing fancy in the presentation, but what a gourmet spread! And what a celebration. The best way to start the holiday season is with friends and family, music and dancing, PING PONG, and a lush cornucopia of deliciousness that spills across December like a wave of rich gravy crested by sweet potatoes and pecan pie.
It's taken two weeks to sort this out, and I'm not sure it's quite jelled. But as I've learned,  writing, and even thinking about writing, is a process that can reveal (to yourself and maybe your readers, if you have any) what you're thinking and feeling. I'm writing this because I'm curious. What  am I thinking? It should be easy to describe something that was absolute fun, starting on Wednesday before T-giving and ending on Sunday after.

But.... no. I have to complicate with comparisons of Thanksgivings past and sentimental reflections about the future. But first off, it's clear that the marathon shared with a gang of friends and family bore NO resemblance to the iconic Norman Rockwell painting. For one thing, those sitting at Rockwell's Thanksgiving table don't look like they had anything to do with preparing dinner. And who's going to clean up? Never mind. And have you wondered how that fleshy grandmother held a 25-pound bird at arm's length? There are other problems. Celery sticks? Water? Where's the wine? Where's the stuffing and cranberry sauce? Where are the Brussels sprouts? I see you Norman, peeking out from the right lower corner. I wonder what you'd think of our Thanksgiving.

First thing you might notice,  MEN in the kitchen. Thanksgiving dinner is an all-hands-on-deck proposition. Cooking dinner for 17 is work. But when cooking is shared, it's creative and fun, as you can see. Clean-up is also an equal-opportunity pleasure. How far we've come from bitches in the kitches and slouches on the couches. Oh yeah, no real TV existed at this rented ranch in the Southern Oregon woods. Our tech-savvy youth rigged up a big screen with a sheet, a fancy projector, and a computer, but nobody watched. They also rigged a system for iPod playlists to blast forth, which was a lot more useful.

Then we have the breakfast crew—the younger set, who started us off with bloody Marys, eggs and veggies, and a bun in the oven. The  third from the left is Heather Korbulic, first among the youth to be a bearer of the next generation. (That's water she's drinking.) Quinn, our firstborn, is on her left. I love these people, and their parents and our extended family of friends. My Thanksgiving—OUR Thanksgiving—  is messy, tumultuous, raucous, and prolonged, like we can't get enough of anything. Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday are major parties lasting well into the night. Well, anything past midnight is "well into the night" for some of us. But still.

I am grateful to be at this stage of life (Medicare birthday coming right up-unbelievable!) in the company of so many people bristling with zest. It's all about enjoying the moment and one another. That sounds so, well, heathen, and at the same time mundane, and it is both. We say grace and are truly thankful for our incredible bounty, but we party down—parents and their adult children and friends.There's Lanny in the white shirt on the air guitar with his son, Parker, on the far right, (only geographically) temporarily stuck orchestrating the iPod.  Grow up, Lanny! No, on second thought, don't. 

The reason I've had to process is because I have Thanksgiving misgivings. PK and I have shared great holidays with other good friends who are not part of this celebration. During child-rearing years, Thanksgiving included other extended families with children. We gathered, most often at our house, which was packed floor to ceiling with kids, food, folding chairs, and the common belief that our children were soaking up tradition and all the love we poured into them. But eventually,  tradition fell victim to the kids-grow-up-effect. Surly teens are not quite as much fun as wide-eyed 7-year-olds who still want know why the Pilgrims eventually screwed Squanto. Things change. But change is good, if not for Squanto, in general. Maybe that's what I rediscovered.
We've created a new tradition, and boisterous and vigorous as it seems now, that too will change.  All our beautiful young people, in their 20's and 30's, are on the cusp of new directions they can't even imagine.  Not that we elders have a clue. But we recognize that this time together is well, amazing. We are grateful to have  adult children actively in our lives, old friends with whom we share a long history, and new friends, too, all who love to banter, reflect, dance, sing and rejoice together. We can't wait to see what happens next.
Next Thanksgiving, the first of a new generation, our first grandchild, will be with us. We'll let the new parents and baby have the private room so we can carry on, as usual, until either the younger people or their elders grow up and go to bed.