Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

In Celebration of Less

Tomorrow it will begin again.
The cooking and the cleaning
and the eating.
When I was a child
my sister and I did most of the cooking for Thanksgiving.
We made squash casserole,
and turkey with stuffing,
sweet potato casserole with bourbon and marshmallows on top,
green beans,
mashed potatoes,
crescent dinner rolls,
fresh cranberry sauce,
a relish tray,
a cheesecake,
and sometimes my mother would make her tunnel of fudge cake too.
After four hours of cooking, the kitchen looked like a war zone.
Pots and pans everywhere.
A Sink full of dishes.
Smells of thyme and poultry seasoning,
sage, and cornbread.
My father would always walk in around ten in the morning,
after we had been up for hours,
Look at everything and say,
“girls, there’s too much food.”
To that, my sister would always reply, “no, there’s not.”
Then we would all sit down around two o’clock,
stuff our faces,
and then take a nap.
Looking back on all of it now,
I realize how lucky I was.
I never once had to worry about whether or nor that there’d be enough food
at Thanksgiving or enough presents at Christmas.
I never once had to worry about where the money would come from
to pay for my holiday.
I never made the association between the large house I grew up in
and my life of privilege.
The big white house was just my house.
And yes, I always wanted to give things to the poor,
and help out at homeless shelters,
but I don’t think I ever really took in what it felt like
to not know where your next meal is coming from,
or to worry about disappointing your family,
or to begrudge others for what they had.
The truth is, we were too worried about preparing our own Thanksgiving.
Everyone had to have their dish.
Nothing could be eliminated.
Especially not my favorite,
the cherry coke salad.
And my sister had to have her squash casserole.
And my mother had to have the bourbon sweet potatoes,
and of course, we had to have turkey.
No one was willing to give up anything
or there would be tears
and complaining.
But now I know,
my father was right,
we did have too much food.