Of Mist and Mountain

This year will be the first Thanksgiving (and preceding holidays) with out my father. He passed away last year on December 29th. This will be the 3rd year since we lost my brother Donald, who died on November 7, 2009.

I have been remembering all the trips that we used to make, when we were children, to Springfield (Vermont) to spend Thanksgiving with my Grandmother. We would pile into the car bundled in winter coats and drive along waiting for the heater to throw it's heat into the back seat, but it was always cold. We would arrive at my Grandmothers with my parent's expectation that we would be on our best behavior, which we all did to the best of our ability.

My Grandmother lived in a Senior's building, which my Dad referred to as a "High Rise". Dad would part the car, and then Mom and Dad would threaten us to be quiet and behave while we would inevitably start acting up in one way or the other. Dad would cuss as they attempted to extract one or two of Mom's pies, her date bread and usually a big bowl of some other food, which they had placed in the rear of the car with the hope that it wouldn't be destroyed during out trip. My father had a lead foot and was always anxious to arrive early at any destination.

When we arrived, us kids would run forward to be the first one to hit the elevator button, all the while with both parents warning us to be quiet. We would be greeted by Gramma, always looking her Sunday best - wearing one of her red dresses and an apron, her white hair styled and she would greet us all with a smile and kisses.

We would walk down the hall toward her 3rd floor apartment, where we were met by the aroma of food cooking. Grammmy always put out her best silver and plates, and she often used linen napkins. She would offer us her home-made M&M cookies (which always had the slight flavor perfume because of the soap tin in which the cookies were kept).

I remember looking around at the pictures on the walls and shelves and her photo-albums which held countless pictures of our whole Family. It was always fun to look at my Aunts and Uncles and all of my cousins. Dinner would be served, and we would eat and talk, and watch the Macy's parade on the television.

After dinner, we would pack up our left-overs and jam back into the car, for a quick trip up the Squitchua Trail to visit with my Grandfather and my Aunt. With our bellies stuffed, and the cold air, we would inevitably sleep as we returned home. We would be released to run and play in the snow until Mom would call us in for a light dinner, a bath and bed time. When I was young, there was a certain feeling in the air during the holidays. It felt special, and there was a feeling of magic all around.