Thanksgiving

I’ve been traveling home for the holiday for some time now, not necessarily because I care that much about Thanksgiving (given its dark history and the genocide of the native people who inhabited this land). It’s been more about spending time with family and friends and being around loved ones. In my last long-term relationship, I would spend that holiday with my ex’s family since they did it really big and it was a Philly tradition. I didn’t mind spending Thanksgiving with his family because over the years, my family made less and less of a big deal about it. After our relationship ended, I was back to traveling home for the holiday. I viewed it as an escape from the hustle and bustle of Philly life. Besides, New England has more of a holiday vibe than Philly anyway.

Since I arrived so late the night before, I wasn’t able to make it to the markets in time to grab dessert and liquor. To make matters worse, at my parents house, my relatives who would be in charge of putting the meal together were going back and forth about stuff they still didn’t have to round out the meal. I figured that I would find a store open Thanksgiving day, since stores in Philly are open but closing early. Well, I was wrong. MA is no PA in that they’re really strict about what can operate on the holidays. As I was running around, trying to find a store that was open, I was reminded of that. I later learned that in MA, the “Blue Laws” are in effect and control which businesses can legally run on Sundays and certain holidays. So while restaurants, pharmacies and hotels are allowed to be open for business on Thanksgiving, grocery stores are restricted.

After spending the late morning/early afternoon with my mom at her rehab, I was able to find a CVS that was still open, where I found the last tub of vanilla ice cream they had. There was a small neighborhood store, probably the only one open in the South End, that I stumbled upon on my way to visit with a friend. One of the owners was trying to talk me into how to make Brigadeiro, which is a traditional Brazilian recipe of fudge balls, made with unsweetened cocoa and condensed milk. He was touting how easy it was to make on the stove. Not convinced I’d be able to pull it off, I settled on a bottle of hot fudge to go with the ice cream I had bought. I spent the remainder of the afternoon catching up with a friend I rarely get to see and her mother, a visit I didn’t know my soul needed. As I was wrapping up my time with them, I got a call from my dad. The family was ready to have dinner and he wanted to know when I’d be back. That was my cue to head home.

This is my first Thanksgiving with family without my mom at home. Honestly, I wasn’t looking forward to celebrating without her there. I kept trying to delay my return to their house. Especially after feeding her the mediocre turkey lunch they were serving at the rehab, which she didn’t enjoy. I didn’t know what to expect when I got to my parents house, especially after the back and forth with the women in the house about not having all that they needed to see it through. When I finally walked into the dining room, there was a full spread on the table: fried turkey, griot (fried pork), diri djon djon (black mushroom rice), macaroni and cheese, potato salad, a spring mix salad, stewed chicken and homemade strawberry cake. I was overwhelmed, impressed that my baby sister, cousin and my mom’s caretaker/family friend pulled the dinner off in such grand fashion. It was those women, my two nephews, dad and I that were there to enjoy it all. It felt bittersweet at first since I knew my mom would’ve preferred this dinner. The absence of other relatives that would normally be there was felt and expressed. Despite that, the laughs and storytelling that ensued throughout the night made things feel more like old times. It was the get-together I didn’t know I needed. My spirit feels full!