A Giving of Thanks

This is the story of a tale of two pies. This tale cannot be told without the story of two grandmothers.

The paternal grandmother loved to decorate and entertain. She put on an elaborate show to amaze the masses with whatever her hand touched. Whether decorating for a summer luau or a winter wonderland, all was done to perfection. It was never Christmas until we saddled up the old Pinto station wagon and made the yearly trek on Christmas Eve to Grandmother's house. Lights AND music greeted you as you wound up the drive. Granddaddy always worked so hard making sure everything was perfect outside as well. Christmas music playing outside in the 1970s was not a common occurrence. Presents abounded inside, as we had to take breaks from unwrapping because our arms grew tired. There was that one year she decided to use hot glue to seal the packages instead of tape because it looked so perfect... It was magical and strained. Memories of praying as a family for peace before we left the house are also part of the tradition. But, I digress. This is the tale of two pies, at Thanksgiving. Now you would think that a grandmother like that would leave recipes galore for her only granddaughter to make, and she did. The one recipe though that gets made every year by request is this simple buttermilk pie. No crust and mix everything all at once in a single bowl. Maybe that was the perfectionist grandmother's secret. She did a lot but took tasteful shortcuts. It definitely worked for four generations and counting with this pie.

So, as you have guessed already, the second pie is from the mind of my maternal grandmother. Now, she was a whole other type of woman. She lived simply and made do with what was on hand. She also was a wonderful cook, but instead of relying on cookbooks, she created from scratch. When you went to her house for the holidays, you didn't find any decorations. That is, other than the ones you set out beforehand. My granddad loved the decorations but my grandmother thought they were a waste of time. There were no Christmas dishes to serve new recipes on each year. There was only one tree, maybe, instead of ten throughout the house. There was no toilet paper with Santa's face on it, thankfully, sitting next to the commode. But there was love. And conversation! How I remember washing dishes after everything was over and listening to the women tell the stories of other holidays long before I was even a twinkle in my mother's eye. There were so many siblings the further back in time you went. By the time you reached my grandmother, she was one of three. My mom was one of two and I was an only child. This grandmother's recipes were hand gathered by watching her cook and writing down what she did as she did it. I'm so grateful my mom and aunt did this! I have the pecan pie recipe written in my mother's hand. It is written like she is speaking to me, walking me through the process.

As I prepared these desserts this year, I was contemplative of times gone past. All of them are gone now. All four grandparents, my parents, my husband. The house is silent other than the sound of the utensils scraping the bowls. I'm not alone, thank God. My sons are working but that is the extent of our family. My boys never knew my maternal grandparents. I have told them the stories. I also realize these stories will most likely die with me. What a dreary thought to have at such a festive season.

My God is gracious. He doesn't allow me to wallow long in self-pity. He reminds me how fortunate I am that while I am preparing this meal for two great blessings He has given into my life, I also am surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses. These people, my family, loved the Lord. One set of grandparents were believers my entire life and I was blessed to witness salvation given through Christ to someone in the latter years with another. God blessed me with parents who surrounded me in Him. My mother was the greatest prayer warrior and had a gift of joy. How I miss picking up the phone to ask her for prayer when things are going south in my life! How grateful I am that I can talk to my Holy Father directly and don't need someone to stand in that gap with me. Jesus cleared the way for that.

Tomorrow the meal will be complete with the addition of the turkey prepared by my boys through a recipe handed down by my mother, their grandmother, and perfected between her and my husband. My husband, whose absolute favorite holiday was Thanksgiving, taught the boys how to prepare it and there is no other turkey as juicy as ours. Period. I will make my mother's dressing which is a meal in itself. Drool gathers in the corner of my mouth just thinking about it. I have added my own recipes these past thirty years of hosting our Thanksgiving celebration. The meal is not complete without my homemade cranberry sauce and broccoli casserole. First rule of thumb on a broccoli casserole, never put rice in it!

My heart is full as I write this last paragraph a few days after our actual celebration. I have started decorating for the next season and I will bake the first cookies for Christmas tonight. The blessed hope is always there, that soon there will be no more separation and we will all be together forever in His kingdom. Until then I wait.