This article is from Tennessee Lookout
My father and mother were born in the 1920’s, grew up during the Depression and World War II, and November and December were not very different for them than the other 10 months of the year. Thanksgiving and Christmas days were quiet and simple.
But not for their children: It was important to my parents to create memories for us and their grandchildren and what better way to do that than to start the holiday season with an unforgettable Thanksgiving lunch. Food was always a big part of any special occasion that involved my m demothe
My husband Larry’s first Thanksgiving meal as an official part of my family came in 1992. My family — the Terrys — were East Tennessee Lincoln Republicans. Even though he is a yellow dog Democrat, Larry had been warmly accepted by my family — or so he thought.
Mother always started her Christmas decorating the day after Halloween. Every wall, staircase, table and corner in her home was covered with Christmas decorations and they stayed up at least until Jan. 2. Starting at Thanksgiving, my sisters and I were expected to wear our best holiday motif sweaters and style our hair for the family pictures that would surely be taken.
Mother set the time that we would eat and on Thanksgiving morning, as soon as we arrived, we went to work. My daddy had an annual ritual of telling my sisters and me that it might be Mother’s last holiday season because she worked too hard. Then Daddy would worry which of his four daughters and their families were going to be late and whether the time of our arrival would impact the time we ate.
My sisters and I knew exactly what was involved in Mother’s “memory creating holiday” meal. My mother inherited her mother’s table and normally my parents had enough room around it for four to six people. But not for family gatherings! There were several heavy big wooden leaves that had to be installed to seat up to 20 people and the leaves had to be locked in to avoid accidents. Our husbands offered to help, which we accepted for only the heavy lifting, and we had to collect chairs from all over the house and make sure they were sturdy. A chair collapsing during a big meal was funny but could be unhealthy. We then asked the men to leave so the sisters could privately share our news — or call it gossip if you must.
The tablecloth had to hang correctly and at one time Mother’s table looked like something out of “Downton Abby” with her best china, polished sterling silver and cloth napkins.
When it was just the two of them, Mother rarely cooked for Daddy. There was a friendly meat-and-three restaurant in their neighborhood, and eating there at least once a day —not necessarily together —was a way for Daddy and Mother to socialize with the community and keep up with what was going on.
This informal eatery had a catering service, and Mother decided to order her Thanksgiving meal from them. She picked up her order and put the containers of food in the trunk of her car, drove the short distance home and brought the food into her kitchen. She got up early on Thanksgiving morning to warm the food and to transfer most of it to her dishes.
My husband, Larry Woods, was already a vegetarian when we married, and this caused much angst in our family. They thought he would starve without meat and that it would be okay to serve vegetables that had been cooked with pork, chicken or beef. I suggested Mother add a dish of macaroni and cheese for Larry because what could go wrong? Everyone loves macaroni and cheese.
When we finally sat down to eat Daddy always said a few words before offering grace. Mother, in turn, always worried the food was getting cold while Daddy was praising Mother for her efforts and the Lord for our bounty. We kept our heads bowed and sometimes glanced and smiled at each other wondering how long this would go on before we could finally eat.
Passing all the food was a production. which according to Mother — and manners expert Emily Post — was to the right. We all talked at the same time and tried not to drop the heavy serving pieces as we passed around the food. We had been raised to put a small portion of every dish on our plate, which did not apply to the vegetarian at the table.
As we ate, I noticed the mac and cheese had a strange taste to it and that Larry was stirring and playing with his mac and cheese instead of eating it and served himself a mound of bread each time the silver breadbasket was passed.
Finally, we cleared the table and began preparing dessert. When my sisters and I were alone in the kitchen, I asked them if they noticed anything weird about the mac and cheese, and they all said it tasted terrible. One of us asked Mother if she had tasted it. She reminded us that she did not care for mac and cheese but there could have been a problem with the kerosene she kept in her car spilling in her trunk and “just perhaps” some of that kerosene spilled onto the mac and cheese. Mother said she was not going to throw away good money spent on food just because of a little kerosene. We did not know whether to laugh hysterically or be horrified.
The next day Larry was on “The Roundtable,” a Nashville talk radio program that featured politicos discussing current events. Live and on the air, he said that his new mother-in-law had tried to kill him at his first Thanksgiving meal because his candidate, and not hers, had just won the 1992 Presidential election. Mother was listening, she called me immediately and said to tell Larry she was going to kill him and just tell God he died.
The mac and cheese with kerosene became part of our family history. Vegetarian dishes are always viewed with suspicion, especially during an election year, and we still do not know why the kerosene was in Mother’s trunk, but Larry took great joy for many years by sharing the story of how his mother-in-law tried to kill him that Thanksgiving Day.
_ Saralee Terry Woods
