Wendy Coneybeer

I remember being around 3 or 4 years old and staying at my grandmother’s house the night before Thanksgiving because my mom had to work (She was a telephone operator and often got stuck working holidays because the old timers had more “seniority” and chose to have the big holidays off). When I woke up in the morning, the mouth-watering scents of a full Thanksgiving dinner spread were wafting through the air ducts into the entire house.

My grandfather was not there, but rather off deer hunting with his brother-in-law, my great uncle Bill. I don’t ever remember them catching a deer during their hunting mornings, but those are two men who loved being at one with nature and probably just enjoyed sitting quietly in the Upstate NY wilderness for hours on end. My dad was probably out hunting with one of his brothers or brothers-in-law too.

I would just spend the morning watching my grandmother prepare her Thanksgiving feast: Oven roasted turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, broccoli with cheese sauce, coleslaw, fresh rolls, an olive tray, fruit and nut bowls, and pumpkin pies. In stark contrast to all of that deliciousness were a couple of foods that you couldn’t get me to touch with a 10-foot pole without gagging: the bowl of bright orange mush otherwise known as winter squash, and the can-shaped glob of gelatinous cranberry sauce.

Dinner would be set for 2PM. My parents would arrive a bit late, much to my grandmother’s chagrin, and maybe there would be some other family there, but these were the days before I had any close cousins to speak of. I was usually the only kid hanging around.

After dinner, we would watch a movie (never football or sports) and stuff ourselves with pie and candy and maybe some ice cream, bellies heaving with each breath. Alice’s Restaurant was always a popular film of choice. I would sit on the couch and drift in and out of a food-induced coma.

That was our Thanksgiving, and it was always my favorite holiday when I was a kid.

Throughout the years things have changed a lot: My grandfather passed away in 1984, I moved out of the area in 1994, and my parents moved to Phoenix in 2006. I now have four beautiful younger cousins, one of them with a new baby of her own!

This Thanksgiving, I am planning on having my parents over to my Mesa home and eating Chinese take-out because of the ease and accessibility. Football will likely be the viewing entertainment of choice, thanks to my husband, Chris.

Today, Thanksgiving Eve, I took part in a community potluck at Gangplank, and got to eat a delicious dinner featuring deep-fried turkey, plenty of potatoes and cheese, and an array of desserts that would be enough to sustain one person for months. Community participants brought their spouses and children who don’t ordinarily come out for events. It was a great day of food and friends.

Even though it’s nothing close to the Thanksgiving of my childhood, I’m thankful that I have plenty of good people in my life to share the holidays with this year. I’ll still remember the holidays of old in my dreams.