Of all the days of the year, the day before Thanksgiving is one of my favorites. I usually spend it in the kitchen, cooking and baking, alone with my thoughts and the wonderful smells wafting through the house. Those smells invariably take me back to childhood Thanksgivings - walking in the door at Grandma and Grandpa's, and going up the stairs to the sounds of Shorty barking and posturing like he was going to attack, all from the safety of Grandpa's lap in the recliner. And opening the door at the top of the stairs to those wonderful smells - roasting meats, and buttery potatoes, and the fantastic gravy Grandma made from cream of celery soup. A few more steps, and we'd have to endure the torture of seeing the plates with the slices of pies of various kinds, all topped with whipped cream, sitting on the buffet. It was as if they talked - "I'm going to call your name all through dinner..." but the sight of all Grandma's wonderful masterpieces spread out on the table usually got my attention back where it belonged. Seeing the two pink bowls was always a treat, and still something stirs in my heart and my palate when I bring mine out of the buffet for our own holiday dinners.
I hope my own grandchildren come through my door with anxious anticipation, enjoying the sights and smells of the Thanksgiving table, and that they will hold onto those precious memories throughout their lives.
Happy Thanksgiving to all!