Thanksgiving Morning

Thanksgiving morning was announced by aromas from the kitchen not a part of daily fare. The turkey, although early in its temptations offered promises not smelled since the year before. Pies, baked late at night, sat in unusual locations tempting us in unfair ways knowing full well they would be the last to delight our anticipations. The king of all the smells was mince meat pie.

Somehow a bowl of oatmeal or cheerios lost its luster in those surroundings. But mother’s eagle eye saw all attempts of unauthorized tasting. The most difficult wait for me was rolls. The yeasty scent of rising rolls sat three hours and teased out taste buds. And if that was not enough there was also a batch of frosted cinnamon rolls in the works as well.

The kitchen was small in size but large in promise in those days. Mothers unceasing efforts at preparation began days before and would reach culmination later on this day. The last items would be rolls out of the oven, marshmallow covered sweet potatoes and the twenty four hour fruit salad in the middle of the table, made only twice a year on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Remember that gratitude is the aristocrat of all emotions and whatever you have is probably more than what 90% of the world’s population has.

Happy Thanksgiving.

©Herb Ratliff, November 21, 2012, All Rights Reserved