In honour of all my special American friends, my dear buddy Kathrine Neff Perry has written a post in celebration of Thanksgiving. Enjoy. And have a wonderful Day.
When I was a little girl, I used to sit on the front porch with my Grandmother and tell her stories. To this day, I can still hear her laughter. She used to ask me to repeat the story when my Grandfather came home, because she thought they were so funny. When I tried, he would look down his nose at me, shake his head at both of us because my Grandmother was rolling on the floor laughing again. He though we were both crazy.
When my own children were young, I made up stories to entertain them. From the time they were tiny, it was expected of me. To make them laugh. There were times when I could be pretty convincing, especially to my son. He would look at me with those big brown eyes and not move a muscle. Waiting for the tale to continue. My daughter was a little more reluctant to believe all my stories.
One Thanksgiving Day, I got up about 4 a.m. Cooking and singing. I was just happy to be alive and happy that we were having family and friends over to celebrate the day.
When the turkey was carved, the potatoes mashed and all the dressing and other dishes were on the table, we all gathered in the dining room to eat.
I blessed the food and everyone dug in.
My son, who was very small, maybe five or six at the time, leaned against the table. His little head just above the plate and said in his sweetest little voice.
“My Mom used to be a pilgrim. She came on a boat for the first Thanksgiving.” Proud he remembered.
My Grandfather glared across the table at me, nodding his head. She’s still telling stories!
Blessings and Hugs and Happy Thanksgiving