A Day of Thanks

Dan loved turkey sandwiches for lunch. At least once a month, he’d buy a turkey breast and roast it, filling the house with that luscious smell, and for the next few days we’d have turkey sandwiches with Lay’s potato chips. He had a funny, unconscious habit of picking up a chip and giving it a few up/down shakes while he finished chewing his sandwich. These little snippet memories always seem to be the most enduring and potent.

The turkey breast is in the oven, filling the house with that luscious smell. All day long I’ve been unpacking memories of Colorado Thanksgivings past and scattering them throughout these California rooms, allowing them to swirl and float and settle where they will. Later, as I sit down to my first Thanksgiving dinner in my new home I will lift a glass of champagne and toast Dan in all his beautiful quirkiness. I will thank him, as I always do, for finding me and choosing me and filling my life with love and wonder.

I will toast my parents, and thank my Mom for making turkey dinner twice each November, the first time for my birthday (we always got to choose our birthday dinner), and again a week later, for Thanksgiving. I will toast our friends in Maine, who always made sure there was a seat for me at one of their Thanksgiving tables after Dan died.

Many, many thanks, and much gratitude,

Jean