Holiday traditions are like the people who keep them. Over time, they change. They aren't perfect, nor do they need to be. They simply reflect who we are.
Every year in November, I try to remember all the countless details of doing Thanksgiving dinner for a big, growing crowd of family and friends.
I've done it so many times it should be second nature. But I always seem to forget a few little things like the number of guests, their favorite dishes and exactly which end of the turkey am I supposed to stuff?
I didn't say I was good at it. I just said I've done it so often it should be second nature. But the very nature of life -- yours, I suspect, as well as mine -- seems to be constant change.
This Thanksgiving will be different. I'm not doing a turkey. Or the stuffing. Or anything. And none of my guests are bringing a dish, either. Well, unless they really want to.
What's my secret? I probably shouldn't admit it, but here it is: I'm buying it all from a market, fully cooked and ready to eat.
If that sounds tacky, so be it.
The thought of a store-bought Thanksgiving dinner is probably enough to make millions of traditionalists choke on their drumsticks. But I decided not to cook this time for the best possible reason: I don't want to.
I don't want to spend a week planning, shopping, prepping, cooking and cleaning up. No matter how much everyone pitches in (they always do and I appreciate it), I still end up overseeing it all. I'd rather spend the time just being with those people. Or sleeping.
Besides, my cooking is not all that great. Nobody will miss it. They'll probably be thrilled.
That said, there are two Thanksgiving traditions that I will keep. First, I'll make a list of all the things for which I am truly thankful, such as:
Being alive. I've lost enough loved ones to know life's a gift. I will never take it for granted.
Having enough. Some people eat Thanksgiving dinner in a homeless shelter or not at all. My family and I are blessed.
Knowing heartache as well as joy. One gives meaning to the other. I try to remember to be thankful for both.
Having a job that allows and requires me to do what I love. I rarely write without a deadline. Luckily, with my job, deadlines loom large every week.
Hearing from readers who say my stories are their stories, too. They help me remember that in the everyday, ordinary matters of the heart, we are all far more alike than different.
Friends who know I mean well, really, no matter how long I take to return their calls.
Children and children-in-law whom I love with a mother's love, brag about shamelessly and hope to count on to speak well of me when I'm gone.
Grandchildren who light me up, give me reason to get out of bed and continually reaffirm my belief in the goodness of God.
A husband who might not always be adorable, but is adored nonetheless by our children and grandchildren and most especially by his wife.
Birds that sing outside my window. Mountains shining in the distance. Flowers that bloom in spite of me. A sun that rises and sets each day whispering in my ear that life is beautiful; it persists and somehow so will I.
The second tradition I'll keep this Thanksgiving is simple. I will set not one table, but two:
One, in a borrowed house on the coast of California, for all the family and friends who will gather with us this year.
And the other, in my heart, for those who'll be present in spirit only, living or long departed, but never forgotten. I'll set a place at that table for you, too.
Home-cooked or store-bought, served on fine china or a paper plate, surrounded by loved ones or all alone, traditions taste better seasoned with gratitude.
Here's wishing you and yours, from me and mine, your most thankful Thanksgiving ever.
Award-winning columnist Sharon Randall writes about the ordinary and extraordinary:
randallbay@earthlink.net
Family on 11/25/2015