Celebrating Symmetry

Clustered around the calliope, we answer his question and call out our states. Tennessee, Mississippi, California. Soon the river reverberates with The Tennessee Waltz, Mississippi Mud and California, Here I Come. With cousins gathered in Natchez for Thanksgiving, we're touring the docked Delta Queen.


Our host, Vic Tooker, is the man in charge of the steamboat's music. He's a curious character whose floating life is replete with adventures. Traveling with him is his mom, a spry octogenerian. She, too, is a multi-talented musician.



With a resident as our guide, we've delved into the bowels of the boat, seen the tiny cabins where the Tookers reside, been to the wheelhouse and met the august captain. All the passengers have gone ashore to enjoy Natchez history and charm and indulge in holiday fare.

Though we are very grateful for this family gathering, a specter of sadness surrounds us. It is barely two months since we've lost my only sibling. Grief tinges our days but, for the sake of our eight year old son, we focus on traditions bounded by thankfulness. The boy is viewing the mighty Mississippi for the first time, meeting countless kin, and sleeping in the massive oak bed where his late uncle spent his childhood.



What none of us knew is that far away in Oregon, a baby boy has just been born. He will grow up to marry the daughter who is, at the time, four years, four months, and four days in our future. For both these remarkable people, we are incredibly thankful.

It is thirty-three years later and Thanksgiving is being celebrated in the desert.




This particular holiday seems especially designed to blend with the dominant colors of the region. In fact, our house is awash with shades of cream, taupe, chocolate, khaki, camel, and pale umber. The palette covers our walls, floors, carpet, and most of the furniture. It appears in bedding and sheets.



One saucy opinion (that of our dear daughter) contends that the hues (or lack thereof) are consistently boring. We smile indulgently and proceed to purchase more of the same. Perhaps I should respond that we're simply coordinating for Thanksgiving year-round.

Our house is decorated with pumpkins a-plenty, russet-colored candles, several sets of Pilgrims, baskets overflowing with gourds and seeds, and assorted colorful turkeys. Each item is carefully spaced and continually admired by the neighbor girls.





The last two days have been reserved for holiday meal preparation. Cranberry relish multiplied by three infused the rooms with delicious fragrance. Two batches have been distributed to the neighbors. The third will be gently placed in Granny Foster's pickle dish for our dinner tonight. Double pecan pies rest in the frig for evening consumption shared with special friends.



Separate stuffing is almost ready. One version includes sauteed celery, onion, and bits of apple. The other is unadorned, maybe ordinary. It's easy to guess which one of us will be consuming each recipe.

Thanksgiving is a soothing holiday. It is a time to reflect, to appreciate the gifts of family and friendship. People who inhabit our history are remembered with unending joy, both those who remain with us and all those whom we've lost along the way.

As we enjoy our Thanksgiving meal, I'll pause to acknowledge the awesome impact these people have on my truly blessed life:
Henry
Caitlin
Bobby
Carol
Steve
Di
Keith
Jackie L.
Mike
Nan
Barbara
David S.
Jeanelle
Dottie
Kenny
Weatherly
Alex
Laura Jean
Lois
Susan
Josie
Denise
Jo Ann
Connie
Bob
Davene
Shawn
Gilly
Hanna
Jessy
Rick
Renee
Madison