the day after Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving the day after... What makes this day best in not necessarily the left over turkey, the thank goodness I have the day off, the football games or The Sex in the City or Twilight Zone marathons but the ability to suddenly be infused with memories. There is a whole lot of planning for Thanksgiving, and during the hubris, hubbub and hurry the hours go astray, minutes wash away, and moments seemed blurred with a to do list sometimes longer then we wish. We seem to be caught up in the moment, or getting ready, getting there and getting settled. It is after all of that, that many of us suddenly remember how much fun, food, foolishness we just had and we weave those new memories into a tapestry titled my many Thanksgivings!

Thanksgiving when I was a kid was always at my parents home. There was some unwritten rule or maybe it was the 11th or 12th commandment, that surely stated, Rena Buncher would ALWAYS have Thanksgiving dinner. My mother would cook a turkey, make a brisket, prepare the salad, bake a kugel, prepare a green bean casserole, make a vegetable soup, and always a homemade cake, brownies, and pie.

She permitted jello molds to be brought in by her sisters, dips and chips by neighbors and perhaps bottles of pop (soda for those not from Pittsburgh), but everything else was prepared, cooked, or baked by my mother.

The memories I have include, at least one trip to the emergency room to stitch some deep cut to my mothers hand, a trip to the pharmacy to buy aloe for the burns on her hands from not using pot holders, kvetching from my mother that this would be the last Thanksgiving, and weird orders by my mother to clean parts of our house we were sure no one ever noticed like the baseboards, the shelves on which her holiday plates and glasses wee stored, and to remove all of our coats (four kids and two parents) from the living room closet so company could hang their coats when they arrived.

I remember going to the neighbors houses for card chairs and card tables, collecting extra silverware from the neighbor's for the 20 people sitting around the table, and finally going to the neighbors homes and providing them with left overs, probably enough to feed them for the next week.

I remember thinking that being a male was terrific, since only the women were stuck clearing the table doing the dishes and then placing them back in the various cabinets. I remember my three sisters complaining how unfair it was that they had to do this work and my mother saying your brother got all the card chairs and tables he deserves to rest now.

I remember dinner being finished the dishes done and everyone somehow fitting into our living room. I remember stories being shared of life in the old country, life when my relatives arrived in this country, and life of my aunts and uncles when they were not even parents. I remember the sweet smell of perfume , the stale odor of cigars, the pungent aroma of kosher dill pickles and green tomatoes, the amazing almost dizzying delights of chocolate cake, apple strudel, coconut icing, strawberries and banana. And I can still sniff the deep, rich fragrance of Romanian coffee, smelling so good but tasting so bitter.

Thanksgivings have changed for me as I moved away from Pittsburgh, as my relatives got older as my kids became young adults. I remember the old, and am grateful for the new. But no matter when or where or how much older I get, it is the day after Thanksgiving that I look back and reflect, remember and reminisce reminding myself of the moments and minutes that make me who I am.

I hope this day after Thanksgiving finds all my friends and family recalling one more memory, one more milestone. Happy day after Thanksgiving!