THANKSGIVING REFLECTIONS

FROM WHERE I SIT   Thanksgiving Reflections   11/14/13 PAT DEKOK SPILSETH

Years ago, Russell Baker wrote a column for The New York Times asking, “Do you ever wish you had it to do over again?”  Baker wondered if folks missed porches and rocking chairs where people sat and reflected on life.  He doubted if many still have rocking chairs or porches, but he said, “Well, for all the things we’ve lost--sitting on the porch swing at sunset, smelling the honeysuckle--think of all the things we’ve gained.  

The trick is in holding on to a little of each.”  That’s what Thankgiving is all about.

Thanksgiving and other holidays are so enjoyable when celebrated with friends, family and lots of good food.  I love traditions.  I want to celebrate holidays like we did when I was a kid, with big family get-togethers.   However, today’s families are smaller, and sons and daughters, aunts, uncles and cousins rarely live in the same community.  Families don’t seem to be as connected to traditions anymore.  

When I was a little girl, my father’s DeKok relatives always gathered at Aunt Sadie and Grandma’s home in Brooten.   Most of his family, except us, lived in one community, Brooten.  Aunt Sadie, Brooten’s redheaded post mistress, was the DeKok family organizer; she sewed litle girls’ dresses, canned chickens, fruit and vegetables, quilted cozy blankets, baked Dutch treats, planned all the family doings and was a consummate garage sale shopper.  I thought Aunt Sadie could do anything!  

At holidays, Grandma and Sadie’s house smelled of chickens roasting in the oven.  She had the tall uncles sit in the overstuffed living room chairs where Tony, Hank, Gerben and Gerrit smoked cigarettes, and Uncle Dan puffed on his fragrant pipe.   The womenfolk sat around the oak dining table in hard, straight-backed chairs sewing, holding babies, sharing recipes, and sipping tea.  Mom, the lone Norwegian among the Dutch relatives, was the only coffee drinker.  Bepa as our Dutch relatives called Grandma DeKok, sat in a rocker dressed in black with her long gray hair twisted into a bun. Never did I hear her utter a word in English: she rarely spoke; she listened.  

In Sadie’s sunny kitchen, all my cousins would sit at the Formica kitchen table drinking orange or cherry Kool-Aid in plastic glasses, which Sadie probably purchased with fat green books of saved Gold Bond stamps.  In those days very few ladies baked treats made from packaged mixes.  We snacked on sugar cookies and rice crisy bars the aunts made from scratch.  After eating, we’d play on the enclosed front porch with many windows.   Aunt Sadie had toys for us: dolls, buggies, balls, trucks, Chinese checkers and Cootie games that she had found at garage sales.   All too soon it was time for my family to climb into our blue Hudson and drive home to Glenwood.   I really loved being with my cousins: I wished they could come home with me. 

Mom’s Barsness relatives lived near each other in Starbuck, Morris and Alexandria.  When our Norwegian relatives celebrated the holiday at my house in the jail, I loved to invite my cousins to play in the upstairs women’s cells.  We’d pretend we were eating prison fare, bread and water, on the black and white enamel dishes of the prisoners.   In Dad’s office we checked out the ferocious looking mug shots of convicts wanted by the FBI posted on a bulletin board.   What a thrill it was for the cousins when they had to use both hands to turn the huge iron key that opened the heavy jail door leading to the men’s cells.  Dad would gave them a little peek inside to see the bullpen.  That’s where the guys sat on the bunks in their cells to eat Mom’s meals. The guys didn’t really eat bread and water: they ate the same meals our family ate.  Life was pretty good in the jail: it was warm with plenty of home-cooked meals.  A few men spent the holidays, year after year, with us.

At Thanksgiving, I looked forward to big family gatherings.  Both Mom and Dad had six kids in their families.  It was always fun when the Scandinavian relatives sat joking around our dining room table.  Uncle Ervin was full of silly jokes, and Emery, Odin and Luverne loved to tease.  The aunts would serve mashed potatoes, roast beef or Capon chicken, lefse and Aunt Ruth and Mom’s favorite, herring.  For dessert, we had a big variety of Norwegian butter cookies and cake.  Our dining room was warmed by tall silver radiators belching hot air into the room.   To compensate for the dry air, Mom had coffee cans of water standing on top of the radiators.  They put moisture into the room so we didn’t get “stuffed up” and start coughing.  Her gloxinas bloomed pink, purple and white in pots sitting in deep sills of the tall windows.  

At Thanksgiving we think about our many blessings.  I’m so grateful to live safely with my family in America in a warm home with plenty of food.   And I feel blessed to have so many treasured memories of our family gatherings.  Jerry Herman wrote, “This is the land of milk and honey/This is the land of sun and song/This is a world of good and plenty/Humble and proud and young and strong.”  

Winter weather is blowing in.  It’s late November: morning frost coats the windows and cars. Trees are bare, lawns are browning, and ice is forming at the shoreline.   On the bleakest of days, some clever souls are able to imagine themselves on a white sandy beach, while sitting at home surrounded by roaring winds and snowdrifts.  Whether it’s warm or cold outside, life is good.  We have so much to be thankful for. 973 words