I miss you Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving for my family was a holiday that revolved around my Great Grandmother because her birthday is always within near margin of it. The holiday meant boarding a narrow jet plane and flying into the quaint airport of Springfield, MO, renting a mini van and staying in a hotel room with my siblings and parents. It was always such a strange sensation to me---being in a hotel room with my siblings and parents. Everyone’s morning habits, sleeping habits, eating habits and bathroom habits become quite evident when executed all in the same room. I was used to living in a house divided by walls, intended to mask such behavior. It was a different element for those 3 or 4 days. Family humor and favorite stories were always revisited, lifted up and kicked around like dust that had settled between times that the whole family was together.
The best part was visiting my Great Grandmother at her house, an antiquated estate tucked deep within the hearth of massive oak trees and green yards. Her house had always been a mansion of mystery to me; from the locked doors of rooms I was not allowed to enter to the mechanical chair lift that carried one up and around the main staircase. I was fascinated with everything the house held ever since I could remember. I have so many memories of running around the house and playing hide and seek with my cousins, hiding in massive wardrobes of musty clothes and always finding new discoveries the old house offered. My Great Grandfather had passed away during the years of my visits there, but his closet was still stuffed full of his long coats and hats. I remember hiding in that closet one time and finding a secret door that led up into the attic. I had myself convinced there were other secret passages lodged deep within the house but my efforts to find them were always curtailed by my Grandmother’s request to not snoop around.
Another favorite memory of mine during my visits there was sitting on the textured rug of red and black patterned diamonds in front of the fire place, pushing around my hot wheels over the bumpy surface of the rug. The fire would always violently pop and shoot flaming pieces of dried wood that to my relief extinguished themselves on the polished golden screen stretched across the den of the fireplace like an extended accordion. Football was always on. I would watch as the players with their broad shoulders and polished helmets wove in between each other and crashed into piles upon the vibrant green grass. Their meticulous formations and play executions never interested me; I would quietly root for the team whose color combination I favored most.
My Great Grandmother was always a caring and involved host. I remember back and forth in between my Aunts carrying baskets of dinner rolls and large porcelain plates to the table, eventually making it to the back of the dining room to peek in the bustling kitchen and see my Great Grandmother standing over a pot the size of her torso, calmly stirring as billows of steam rose up and danced out the window. She would look over at me with a comforting grin, knowing my excitement to feast upon towering plates of her devout cooking.
Then came the food. It was hard to even find a place on the large stained oak table to place your own plate due to the myriad of dishes bowls and pots; all offering sensations of taste that resurrect their intoxicating savory flavors as if the feast from the previous year had been eaten just the day before. We would pass around the mirrored stainless steal dishes of gravy and cranberry sauce, covering our steaming plates of stuffing and juicy roasted turkey like icing on cake. I would eat and eat, then place myself in a comfortable chair and let my stomach go to work. The evening always ended with all of our tired souls fumbling out of the front doors, ready to sleep soundly in our hotel beds.
Yesterday marked 5 years since my Thanksgiving has been like that. I have been on the road for the Holiday every year since then. My vivid memories of my Great Grandmother’s house have comforted me with each year I have been absent from the Thanksgiving feast. This year I felt I needed to write them down.