There is No One Hallmark Thanksgiving

I was about to blither on about all Thanksgivings being one Thanksgiving, when the stupidity of such a concept hit me. Each Thanksgiving is singular, although we try to recall it as one.

My one Thanksgiving is rooted in the ideal Thanksgivings, that took place at the family cottages on Lake Simcoe;   crisp fall air, beautiful autumn colours, logs ablaze in stone fireplaces, cottages filling with the aromas of the meal to come, children gathering leaves for table centrepieces,  extended family and friends gathering together to celebrate one of the finest holidays.

Somehow through time, I hit the DELETE button in my grand remembering. There were no grumpy teenagers, no adults who had literally drunk in too much of the spirit of the occasion, no bitterly cold driving rain,  no participants complaining about the senseless process of lugging mattresses, for unknown reasons, from one cottage to the next, no wee babies wheezing in the arms of a parent by the cranky oil burner.

Really, how many Thanksgivings actually took place at the cottage ?

There were the Thanksgivings I went with my parents to Massechuesetts as a small child, for several years, after my sister died, where it really wasn't Thanksgiving at all.

There were the cottage Thanksgivings.

There were the Thanksgiving train rides home from university for weekends primarily spent catching up with old school friends.

There was the Thanksgiving my husband and I prepared the meal in a small apartment in Stratford, as we awaited the November birth of our first child.

There were the Thanksgivings spent at my husband's family cottage, where his mother exhausted herself preparing the perfect Thanksgiving dinner.

There was the heartbreaking Thanksgiving we knew and didn't know, that it would be our last Thanksgiving together as a family.

Happy Thanksgivings were always interspersed with sad holidays.

For me one of the happiest was the year we had a real feast in the empty barn; tables covered with shiny gold tablecloths, decorated with bright red apples and laden with hams and turkeys with all the trimmings. I think it was a happy occasion for the many who attended.

There was the Thanksgiving my uncle died in Toronto, as he was preparing to drive down to Nova Scotia. My mother, daughter and I flew back, as my good friend and her family flew down here for the holiday. It was a sad and confusing time for all of us.

Not that long ago, my cousin and I celebrated Thanksgiving at my daughter's and her husbands new home in Halifax, with a new grandson. My daughter was recovering from the birth, a gall bladder operation and pancretitus. My older daughter arrived from Ontario, to see her new nephew and offer support. We were all so exhausted, we ordered Swiss Chalet and felt thankful.

Hallmark Cards could never come up with enough cards for all of these occasions.

Thanksgiving will always remain a time to acknowledge we have so much to be thankful for and accept that it is unnecessary to endlessly seek the perfect holiday, ending in exhaustion.

My daughters one year came up with a five minute Thanksgiving dinner. They gathered a pre-cooked chicken, instant mashed potatoes, canned gravy, stovetop dressing, canned cranberry sauce, frozen peas and a boxed pumpkin pie with dream whip. They had two minutes preparation leftover. It might have been one of the best Thanksgiving dinners ever. I wish I had been there.

The truth remains, though, I will always be thankful for the delight of leftovers from a Hallmark meal.

The Joy and Beauty of Imperfection.

Last night the North Mountain Chorus, of the tiny community of Burlington, Nova Scotia, sang in a large church in Wolfeville.

Music happened.

What an eclectic group of individuals, we are. There are so many stories that weave together the voices of so many personalities, that have emerged from so many unique life experiences. The breadth and depth of all this living provide a rich, dark soil in which the music takes root.

A factory made bowl can be beautiful, but a factory made bowl does not hold the special beauty left by a potter's hands or a glass blowers breath.

Friends of mine have unique wedding bands. Each diamond on each band is an uncut diamond. Future possibilities will forever remain to be shaped by future dreams.

A wise gardener tends the blooms, to create a joyful explosion of colour, recognizing the unique magic of each in all.