Thanks for the Memories

My mother-in-law owned Thanksgiving. Janet Franklin had it down. Somehow every year at 2 o'clock we would find ourselves sitting at her dining room table filled with bowls of food that were traditional, comfortable, delicious, and hot.

She lived about seven minutes away from us in Riverside. When I would come over on the Monday or Tuesday before Thanksgiving to help clean her house for the big day, she would already have sheet cake pans of cubed bread for dressing drying on her counters.

Invariably on her kitchen table would be a yellow legal pad containing the brains of her operation--daily tasks to complete on the days leading up to Thanksgiving, and then a detailed timeline of Thanksgiving day, indicating when the turkey and each dish needed to be placed in the oven, at what time and temperature. She took into account her oven space, and also her daughter Julie's, who lived on the same street one block down.

Janet didn't get stressed out about the food. She worked her plan, and graciously accepted the help we offered. She allowed time for smoke breaks. She welcomed stray relatives and others who didn't have a place to go. My parents came several times. Her place was open, and an extra card table could always be set up for the kids.

When the plastic indicator on the 24-pound turkey had popped, and the hot bird had been precariously transferred to a platter, she'd call either Dave (my husband) or his brother Eric to carve it. Then all the side dishes could go back into the oven for a final warming, while she made gravy in the roasting pan.

One year she'd watched some TV show that suggested placing three beans on each plate and having everyone say what they were thankful for. So we did that, and everyone said they were thankful for family.

After a prayer and the endless passing of dishes, we could finally get down to the business of eating. I think the highest compliment to Janet's cooking was the complete silence that always fell over the table as we dug in.


One year as I was shopping at Albertson's for whatever I was planning to bring (maybe it was the year I tried making the rolls) I spotted the perfect item to make her Thanksgiving: a one-pound butter sculpture of a roasted Thanksgiving turkey. I think it was a Land O' Lakes product--hadn't seen it before, and I've never seen them since. I knew Janet would LOVE it. A little butter sculpture that you could use! I couldn't wait for Thanksgiving to place it on her table and see her delight.

As I sat down with everyone at the table that year before the prayer, I remembered the sculpture, safe in my fridge AT HOME. I let out an audible "Oh no!" I explained my surprise for Janet that I'd forgotten, but it was too late to go home. Even though I could be home and back in ten minutes, everything was already hot and on the table. I could tell she was disappointed. That memory goes down as one of the Top 10 regrets in my life. Maybe even in the Top 5.

Because it would have been a wonderful way that I could have given back to Janet for her Thanksgiving feast. A gift to show her I was thankful.

We didn't get her feasts every year. For a while Dave's dad and step mom would come up from Arizona every other year, so we would have Thanksgiving at his grandma's, and she would usually be invited to Thanksgiving with one of her brothers. I don't remember her complaining, although I think she would have preferred to have us every year. I think the situation just made her extra thankful when it was her turn to have us.

Janet died in the summer of 2007, so this will be the 6th Thanksgiving without her. In the years since, we traveled to Tucson once for Thanksgiving with his dad (buffet at a hotel), twice to Sedalia for Thanksgiving with Auntie Nan (Janet's little sister who has mannerisms so like Janet it's uncanny), and two times that I don't remember but I could look up in my diary if I wasn't so lazy and wanted to get this posted. Whatever we did, I know it wasn't memorable like Janet's Thanksgivings. For those memories, I am thankful.