For our Mothers and Grandmothers on Thanksgiving - weekly column

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Our Grandmothers’ Litany of Gratitude

In the run-up to Thanksgiving and then Christmas men and boys wisely stay away from the kitchen. A woman can be a physician, a CEO, a senator, or the president, but in the seasonal rhythms of Creation she will also serve (and rule) all those in her queendom as a provider, a nurturer. Thus, do not annoy the goddess in her primal role.

At a festive meal the spouse-person in my life usually indicates that which is obvious: “Here is the turkey, and here the dressing, and here the peas…” My mother did much the same, and the s-p’s mother even more so. No one was going to touch the first bite of Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner until the mother-in-law proudly pointed out each of the dishes she had cooked: “Here is the ham if you don’t won’t turkey, or you can have both, and here are the rolls and cornbread, and this is Katherine’s waldorf salad, and here…”

Why did women born early in the twentieth century recite the dishes they served on special occasions as if they were praying a litany or following a liturgy?

Because praying a litany or following a liturgy is exactly what they were doing.

For the men and women whose childhoods were lived in the Great Depression and the Second World War, food was sacred. There wasn’t much of it. Sometimes there was none.

My father spoke of weeks when all his family had to eat were black-eyed peas and cornbread. The point is that they had black-eyed peas and cornbread.

In our time a question after a meal might be “How was the presentation?” In the recent past the question was “Was the food good?” For our parents and grandparents, the question was a still-anxious “Did you get enough?”

In illo tempore a man did not worry about a promotion or climbing that metaphorical corporate ladder; he worried about having a job, any job.

A woman did not worry about pleasing a demanding child’s delicate palate; she worried about being able to feed her child at all.

Men now gone to Glory remembered chowtime in recruit training as the first time in their lives they had enough to eat. After the war – it was always The War, capitalized – war brides and adopted children arriving here where there had been no fighting over the fields and burning of homes said the same. They marveled at having enough to eat, and never forgot the hungry times.

And so, that is why your mother and grandmother pointed out and named every dish: “…and here is the iced tea and here is the lemonade, and when everyone’s through we have pecan pie and chocolate pie and apple pie…” For and by her and through her each dish was spoken of as if it were a prayer of thanksgiving because it was.

Shame and ashes be upon us if we forget our mothers and fathers through all the generations.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and make perpetual Light to shine upon them.”

And thank you.

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