Grateful, Part 3

It is Thanksgiving morning and we are in a hotel in Phoenix.* Lil E is taking an early nap, my in-laws are getting ready for the day and we are preparing for a meal and a day with family we don't see very often.

We are far away from the wintry Midwest, from my family and from the few traditions we do have for this holiday.

That isn't a new thing or a bad thing. I've spent many Thanksgivings on the other side of the country from my family, sometimes working, sometimes with friends, sometimes at tables of kind and generous people I don't know very well. While my mother and her mother-in-law and my aunt pull dishes in and out of the oven in southern Indiana, and while I sit back while the other cooks in this kitchen create our meal, I will only be missing one tradition - making pies with my Grandma Alice.

For many years when we were together on Thanksgiving, my grandmother and I would roll out the dough, slice apples, mix pecans with brown sugar and bake away a full day in the kitchen. I would work from the tattered recipe cards in my grandmother's tin box and she would work from memory and feel.  Her hands are amazing, especially when they were at work in her kitchen. She would knead through large balls of dough with strong hands and then lightly sprinkle flour on the rolling pin with the softest touch. Later, when the pies were filled and nearly ready for the oven, she would deftly crimp the edges and artistically slice precise designs in the top layer of crust.

When the pies were golden and bubbled up on the edges, looking beautifully imperfect, we would pull them from the oven to cool. Then we would pull out her special pie basket with two layers for keeping pies safe for travels. The great satisfaction would come when we'd arrive, carrying the basket carefully, and present the pies at the center of the table.

My grandmother was never humble about her pies. She knew she had a gift and she knew her pies were the prize of any Thanksgiving meal. She would hold a knowing smile tight when my cousins would beam, "Where are Alice's pies? They're the best part of the meal!"  She knew how much each person ate and she express concern if anyone didn't eat what she considered enough pie. Don't you feel well honey?, she would ask.

My grandmother's pie-making secrets are my own now. And when my mother and I are together for Thanksgiving, we make the pies together. Baking pies with my mother is bittersweet. She has the same strong and soft hands, the same pride in creating beautiful, delectable desserts. As we knead and fill and slice and slide the pies into the basket we now have as our own, the joy of cooking is met with the longing to have Grandma Alice there in the kitchen with us.

My grandmother is in a county nursing home in southern Illinois and she does not know today is different from any other day. Alzheimer's has taken her mind to remote places, sometimes far, far away from us, and sometimes, grateful to see us at her bed or beside her wheelchair when we visit. She is 98 years old and as a woman, as a mother, as her granddaughter, one of the best parts of my life has been having her with me for so long.  It is harder now, grieving the loss of her in pieces. We have been so close, sharing many times as a family in my 34 years.

We have never been more connected than we were, side by side, baking Thanksgiving pies in the kitchen.

Today, while Bruce's family cooks and my family sits down together far away, I will take the day to enjoy, be thankful and connect to my grandmother in my memories in my prayers - grateful, grateful.

* We hobbled here, barely on the mend from the most heinous stomach flu ev.er, but we made it. Somehow, we made it. Bruce says we got Thanksgiving backward, with the purge before the binge. But binge after two days of that horror? Oh no.

Photo credit: Grandma Alice, Jessica & Lil E (2005) by Jessica Ashley

Comments

[2Jmama]

I'm grateful today for many reasons, but the strongest at this moment is my grandmother. As I'm washing my third sink full of dishes I'm listening to her tell the same story for the fourth time today. With a roll of my eyes and a quite smile I cherish this moment. One year ago today we spend Thanksgiving day praying, praying for anything. Praying that God would take her and end the torture or that God would send her around the corner and give her more life. But please please please let Him make a choice and send her one way or the other. It has been a long year filled with pain and recovery, but a year filled with joy. Where today we hear "I don't remember last year's Thanksgiving..." and we are oh so grateful.

[2Jmama]

hhmmmm sorry about the rambling. :)

[Grrrlfriend Jess]

That was beautifully-said, 2JMama. I totally get it.