Thanksgiving French Fries

Somehow I ended up alone on Thanksgiving.

That wasn’t the plan, but things fell apart early in the week: Covid showed up at my niece’s house, and then my nephew wasn’t feeling so great, either. It seemed wise to postpone our family celebration until everyone was certain they were healthy.

It’s been a long time since I had Thanksgiving with that part of my family. This wasn’t anybody’s fault; it’s just how things had worked out. Some holidays, after my folks had both passed away, my husband and I wanted to get away with our kids. One year I had the brilliant idea that it would be fun to drive to the Bay Area to visit Muir Woods. Surely it wouldn’t be busy on Thanksgiving Day! All the Bay Area folks would be in their houses cooking turkeys! Except the drive there was painful, with traffic backed up in areas where it normally doesn’t back up, because apparently other folks had the same not so brilliant idea. Once we finally arrived, an hour later than we should have, there was nowhere to park. Nowhere even within walking distance! So we drove up and down past the entrance to Muir Woods for half an hour and then finally gave up and went to the beach. By the time we headed home, every restaurant was closed, except for the Black Bear Diner in Auburn, which is where we finally ended up having our Thanksgiving dinner. I think I had a hamburger.

So I was looking forward to the day, to sitting down with family that I don’t see very often, because we are all so busy. I was looking forward to enjoying food like the food I remembered from decades of Thanksgiving dinners growing up, dishes that my Mom used to make. She always bought a smoked turkey. We’d have stuffing out of the box, because we loved it and never understood why it had to be more complicated than that, and a vegetable dish made with artichoke hearts, green beans, and tarragon, the secret ingredient.

My Mom died five years ago this month. I miss her. I hoped that being with extended family this Thanksgiving would bring her close again.

The rest of my family is not around right now, either. My son stayed in Santa Barbara for Thanksgiving. His Dad made the very long drive down there to keep him company. We tried to figure out a way to bring my son home, but (of course) airfare is pricey for this weekend, and it’s a relatively short one, especially when he will be home in mid-December for three weeks. I’m grateful that his Dad was able to be with him. I stayed home partly because I have a wonderful group of quilters arriving Saturday. They will keep me busy doing massages all weekend. My daughter was treated to a pizza feast with her sea turtle cohorts in Costa Rica.

So what did I do on this first Thanksgiving without either of my children or other family? I went for a 5k run, a fundraiser for the local food pantry. I met my good friend and her children there. After the run, her kids went off to spend Thanksgiving with their Dad, so the two of us went to McDonald’s for iced tea and French fries. We thanked the McDonald’s workers heartily for working; the cashier said it wasn’t so bad, that they were only open until 2:30 pm, but then she had to head home to cook.

I came home and walked out to the garden. I picked the last of the green tomatoes and unhooked my sprinkler timers and covered up the outside faucets with insulation to hopefully keep the pipes from freezing when the cold descends. That doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anytime soon, though. Temperatures are set to be above freezing for the next weeks. I brought in firewood and stacked it by the woodstove. I took a bath. One of my online book groups will be talking about Ann Patchett’s the Dutch House in January. I downloaded it with my Hoopla library app and listened to more than an hour. Tom Hanks is the reader. It is excellent. Also sad. Sort of appropriate for a Thanksgiving Day that was lovely but which didn’t turn out exactly like I had hoped.

Here is another lovely thing. I bet that if you have read this far, you are my friend or are somebody who would have invited me to share a Thanksgiving meal with you. Thank you for that.

This year, my Thanksgiving meal ended up being French fries and iced tea at McDonald’s with a good friend. But it’s OK, because friends are family, too. I guess I wasn’t alone after all. And then the time I had by myself at home later? Time in the garden and time with a good book in front of the fire? It was fine, and good, and sweet. It helped me remember that there’s much to be thankful for, on Thanksgiving Day and all my ordinary days, too.