One of my earliest memories is of my grandmother cooking in her kitchen. This may be a normal memory for most, but my grandmother had cancer and did her work with one arm. She died when I was three years old. But I remember sitting in a chair at a small dining table in the kitchen and watching her. We lived with my grandparents for awhile. I don’t remember her reading me to sleep, my mother says that is one of her treasured memories of my grandmother, but I remember her in her kitchen, making biscuits, going to her kitchen sink and turning on the water (the sink was on the opposite wall from me). There was a pantry just off the kitchen. Perhaps that is why I love having a pantry in my homes. I remember going into the pantry as an older child even after my grandmother died and visiting my grandfather.

I remember visiting my Aunt Murlar in her small rural home in Northern Florida. She always had spent hours cooking for us. Aunt Veatrice made her special rolls for every family reunion. Aunt Hazel taught me to make 7-up cake on a visit to their house. Aunt Iretta came to visit my parents and made cinnamon rolls and homemade pizza. She taught me this and taught my daughter just a few years ago. Aunt Mavis always made chicken and dumplings for us. Aunt Gwen always made her apple pies and taught me to sprinkle sugar on the top crust. My maternal grandmother taught me how to make her 1, 2, 3, 4 cake and how to make homemade hot chocolate.

I didn’t realize it as a child, but now I know just how much time and love went into making meals for me all these years. Each meal was a gift of love from my family member.

When I was a child, our family went to my Aunt Gwen’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. My dad always made the fruit salad and Aunt Gwen always had made her fabulous apple pies. My parents made a fruitcake (their fruitcake recipe is the best. It is the only fruitcake that I would eat.  It had only enough cake batter to hold the ingredients together, and it had many more pecans than fruit pieces.) The feast was phenomenal.  When we were done cleaning up and doing the dishes, we would play a game of football in Uncle Warren’s front yard. I don’t remember who won, I just remember how much love I felt. As we grew older and could drive a car, the teenagers would often go to a movie on Thanksgiving afternoon. We just loved being together! Isn’t that what family is all about, loving being together?  How grateful I am for my family. Even though we are now separated by miles and the “ busy-ness” of things, we still love each other and will do anything we can to help one another.

It would be fun to hear about your family. Can you share a family story under comments today. It is easy and all of us who read the blog will love to hear your Thanksgiving stories.