Nov. 25, 2004 - 20:26 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Again

About the time I could sit up at table where the grown folks sat, (We didn't have room for a bridge table for me to sit), I was able to partake of the bounty at the festive occasion of Thanksgiving. And festive it was.

We lived in a two room house, one room had the sofa bed and my crib which had been altered a bit to the point it would be called a youth bed (or whatever), a chiffonier, a wind up victrola thing and two benches stacked vertically. The other room had a bathroom, closet, coal range, sink and small sideboard. Crowded in there was a table and buffet. My uncle had made two benches which would seat two people (or three if they were small) and with the four chairs belonging to the dinette set, we had room for company.

As time went on I found out that it wouldn't be every Thanksgiving that Mom was home, nor every Christmas either. Some holidays she had to work, and if she was off, Dad had to work.

I remember on Thanksgiving Day, Mom working at the kitchen end of the room from early morning until the feast was on the table.

Everbody sitting down and gazing with hungry eyes and growling stomachs at the goodies on the table. A ham or a turkey, candied yams, a mountain of mashed potatoes with a big boat of gravy, corn, cranberry sauce and so many other goodies that all I can remember is that it was a surplus of plenty.

I was a lucky kid, our family and friends were quite gentle and civilized, no hard words exchanged or feelings hurt. We just gathered in peace and enjoyed the bounty.

I am glad that it happened to me at a young age so that I could see how Thanksgiving could be celebrated.

Then when I was eight years old the stock market crashed and the lean years were upon us. Some years of being everso thankful that there was any food on the table, even if it was pinto beans and hotdogs (or bologna). I grew to hate those items with a loathing, but would still shovel them down because that huge empty hole in my middle demanded FOOD. It was plain, and that's all there was.

Those were the years of making clothing do, as well as wearing shoes with holes kicked in the toes. All the time wondering if my folks would be laid off.

Then we began to have real Thanksgiving dinners once again as things began to ease up a bit. Becoming accustomed to that spoiled me for later.

Pearl Harbor and and rationing began, a time of food shortages, tire shortages, shoe shortages and of course gasoline shortages. Dad would buy that icky white oleo that had that little sack of coloring which had to be mixed in to imitate butter. Mom set a good table even so and we gratefully accepted what we could have.

My young life accustomed me to the fact that things changed, some times for the better and other times not so good. And seeing both made this kid a bit more realistic than otherwise.

I met my beloved Heather and we married while the war was still going on, we had a little apartment in the second story of a house. We managed to eat decently in that crowded little place. Didn't have much in the way of dishes or silver, oh we had 18 sets of pitcher and iced tea glasses as wedding presents, all nice new and shiny. The rest were clean and usable, not a match in the box though.

Heather being from a large family tamed me pretty well. We always went to her Mom's on Sundays, had dinner there. Her Dad worked in the packing house and knew how to buy just the right cuts of meat. Also her Dad went deer hunting in season and brought home nicely dressed venison. Thanksgivings there were out of this world. That is where I was introduced to cranberry salad which has been a favorite of mine ever since. In the summer he had a large garden. Their table was always plentiful with very good and tasty stuff.

Even though Heather and I faced some hard times here and there, oh how I wish it would be possible to go back and do it all over Again . . . . . . .

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