Best Forgotten

When I was a growing up we always had Thanksgiving dinner at my dad’s parents. It wasn’t much fun for a kid because theirs was the stuffy house. Plastic runners on the floor, a plastic sofa cover, chairs I wasn’t allowed to sit in, things I wasn’t permitted to touch. Actually there was very little in that house I was allowed to touch, including the toys that were technically mine.

My grandmother cooked differently than I was used to so dinner wasn’t much to look forward to either. To begin with, I don’t like turkey. I don’t care who makes it, I don’t like it. My grandmother never believed this so there were at times big dramatic scenes with the whole accusation of me thinking her food wasn’t good enough. But that wasn’t reserved for holidays. That was just my grandmother. My dad and grandfather would take me aside before dinner and remind me to eat some of everything just to appease her when they thought of it.

Anybody else ever have potato filling made with saffron to make it yellow instead of butter and eggs to give it real flavor? Dried corn at her house was, well, dry as in powdery. This was the same grandmother who thought the best way to prepare hamburgers was to boil them in parsley water. Need I say more?

Anyway enough about the food. One thing that always amazed me about Thanksgiving dinner was Aunt Violet. The woman was 127 years old if she was a day and always turned up in a hat. I have no idea where she came from or where she was the rest of the year. She only appeared at Thanksgiving. For all I know she’s still showing up for dinner with the people who bought the house after my grandparents died. She was one of those little old ladies you see with the porcelain papery skin that smelled of that powdery perfume you can’t quite identify but recognize as old. She talked all the time to no one in particular and everyone just sort of ignored her until it was time to see her home. For some reason I was never allowed to go along even when my dad took her. It made me think there was some big mystery to her, like she wasn’t really alive or something and they didn’t want me to discover the secret. Hm, perhaps I’ll go lurk in that block Thursday evening around the time we used to eat, just to see if she’s still there.