Its been a few years since Ive posted this, but I try to read it every year. Now thinking of those in the story who are no longer with us. I love my family. An excerpt from my mothers book, Cooking with the Cherry Tomato Lady. : The Blessings of Blending Jim and I fretted as we prepared for the holiday gathering at our new Worthington, Ohio, home. Technically, our guests were family, but many members of this recently merged group were not well acquainted and some had never met. My “bonus” children – the term we prefer to “stepchildren” – and their spouses and Jim’s bonus family were looking forward to the get-together. Counting the grandchildren, there were 15 of us in the immediate family at the time. However, for this occasion, we extended the invitations well beyond immediate family. Among the guests would be my ex-husband John, Jenni and Greg’s father. Jim’s side of the family had never met him. A bearded, politically liberal and sometimes outspoken fellow with a dry sense of humor, John said he would bring his current girlfriend if that was okay with us. “Sure,” we said, “that’s fine.” John’s second ex-wife, a woman who lived near us and with whom we’ve stayed in touch, said she would stop by with her son Michael, who is Jenni and Greg’s half-brother. Son Matt told us that he and his wife Melissa would be accompanied by Lanell and Robert, Melissa’s parents who were visiting from Louisiana. We had had little contact with them, but were aware of their conservative views and deeply religious background. Son Jason, active in a Big Brothers organization, planned to bring the “little brother” he was mentoring, a teenager with a troubled past who recently was released from a juvenile facility. I recall Jason saying something about this being a good opportunity for the youngster to observe the functioning of a “normal” family. Jim and I were edgy as guests started arriving. We decided to take a chance on playing an ice breaker. As people entered our home, we taped cards on their backs, designating each as a well-known personality. Each person was to guess his or her new identity by asking other guests questions that could be answered by only “yes” or “no.” With some uncertainty, they began circulating through the house, from kitchen to family room to dining room to the sun room, asking one another questions such as: “Am I alive?” “Am I beautiful?” “Am I someone you’d like to have dinner with?” As Snow White met Abraham Lincoln and as Jesus Christ chatted with Madonna, the noise level rose and guffaws and belly laughs filled the house. The toddlers, taking cues from the fellowship, willingly accepted hugs and pats from people who moments before were strangers. Soon we settled around the tables we had pushed together to accommodate the crowd, offered a prayer of thanks and passed the food. Why had we worried at all? Even if the game had failed, the meal would have united this group. Lanell brought a massive casserole of Southern cornbread stuffing and divulged her “secret ingredient.” Daughter Kippy presented her usual mountain of mashed potatoes, and Jim carved the giant gobbler as John poured the wine. The girlfriend, who turned out to be a pleasant addition to the group, passed fresh bread she had baked. Some dug into the succotash while others piled on the green beans. Some snubbed the sweet potatoes; others dipped in for seconds. Everyone held plates up for Greg’s traditional pumpkin pies and then for wedges of homemade pecan pie that Jason had laced with bourbon. Together, we entertained the grandchildren, listened to Robert’s yarns and chuckled at John’s jokes. And throughout the meal, we reminisced about the loved ones, who – because of travel distance – could not be with us. Sisters-in-law Betsy and Carolyn were dining with friends in far-off Idaho and Massachusetts. Jim’s brother’s family, our West Coast contingent, were in California where we could picture Jack slicing the turkey and serving dinner to a disparate flock that bore resemblance to our own. There we were. To an observer, we would appear the personification of a Rockwell tableau. Yet we were an eclectic bunch of Catholics and Methodists, Baptists and agnostics…sweet potato lovers and sweet potato haters…Yankees and Confederates…couples unloosed by law and “bonus’ siblings created by a new union. There we were – breaking bread and witnessing thankfulness for one another.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Nov 2014 17:20:28 +0000
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