Here's part of an essay I wrote about her final Thanksgiving.
**
Thanksgiving was my mother’s favorite holiday. I remember her last one. The four of us (my sisters and me) and our spouses and my dad are there with her in the living room of my parents’ New York apartment.
My mother is presiding from a sofa that was moved there from their house in Beverly Hills to this apartment on the upper East Side of Manhattan. Once upholstered in a shiny red-and-green floral print that felt cool against my face, it’s there that my mother read the Oz books to me after dinner when I was growing up. Now in their bright, modern condominium, the sofa had been re-covered in white linen.
I can still see my mother sitting there, nearly lost in a billowing gold brocade caftan. Her hair is, as always, short and brushed briskly away from her face. She smells, as always, of Eve Arden face cream, cigarettes, and Scotch whiskey.
Her cheeks are flushed and full, and she seems at first to be in the pink of health. But closer up, her face is puffy, the skin reddened with broken blood vessels. Her hair is thin. Her grey eyes rheumy. She seems at once paunchy and emaciated. A cigarette trembles between her fingers. She’s too weak to even stand and will retire to her bed before we sit down to eat.
A writer, first and foremost, her hands have always been her pride, the fingers short, stubby, and efficient, the nails cut short so as not to interfere with her typing. Thanksgiving was one of her annual days of domesticity, even if it was hired help who set the table, cooked and served the meal, and cleaned up after.
Even at that last Thanksgiving there was an elaborate centerpiece for the table – a riot of pineapple, eggplant, persimmon, nuts, and grapes. Two turkeys, three pies, three kinds of stuffing.
Not only did she have to be a successful lady writer but she had to run a perfect home and raise perfect children. And Thanksgiving, even her last one, was the time for that perfection to shine.
**
Do you have memories of a lost loved one, no longer with us, but whose memory pops up during the holidays?
This is so touching, Hallie . . . there certainly seems to be something about holidays that trigger those memories of times spent with our loved ones . . . I know my own memories of sharing those special times with my mom are particularly strong during the holidays . . . .
ReplyDeleteI think it's the smells that trigger the most vivid memories.
DeleteWhat a lovely essay, Hallie. My mother is the one whose memory always comes to mind during the holidays. One that always makes me smile is how she would set up up at the table with bags of slightly stale bread and order me to break it up into a roasting pan for stuffing. Looking back, I realize it was also her way of getting me out of the kitchen and out from under her feet while letting me be helpful.
ReplyDeleteBags of stale-ish bread! And I'll bet it was good.
DeleteVery touching. I loved Thanksgiving, making bread stuffing with my mother, and being in charge of three pies with my sister.
ReplyDeleteThe saddest one was at my grandparents' house a couple of towns away (San Marino). My grandmother Dot, a lifelong smoker, had had several serious strokes and was in her bedroom at the back. As my grandfather said grace at the table, he began to sob. I'd never seen him cry (or my father, either). It broke my heart.
That's so sad... and lovely at the same time.
DeleteI do have memories that pop up of loved ones during the holidays.
ReplyDeleteMy grandfather, stoic Irishman that he was still bright and upbeat during the last Christmas that we had with him. It was pretty well "known" that it would likely be his last one. His health was failing and even though there had been scattered absences the last few years by one family member or another, everyone made sure to be there for what indeed turned out to be his last one.
My grandmother, who as she got older refused to let anyone buy her gifts anymore. For a few years I was the only exception. Then even that was not allowed. When she told us that she didn't want ANY presents the following year, the family balked. And then my grandmother said, "Unless you are going to give me $1000 dollars, I don't want or need anything. And my family chose to look at that as a challenge. So every adult member of the family kicked in a share and then my uncle went to area banks before Xmas the following year. And on Xmas Eve, I presented my grandmother her gift. It was a box filled with exactly what she "asked" for. Yep, it was 1,000 one dollar bills. She was still with us for a number of years after that of course, but that's the memory that comes up the most in telling stories of family Xmas storytelling lore the most.
My dad's last Christmas wasn't especially memorable. He was sick with cancer but was still "okay" as in coherent and able to participate. What made it memorable was Archer Mayor had a new Joe Gunther novel out and I got it for him for a present. He was never able to read it. He actually willed his Archer Mayor books to a next door neighbor who was, like him, originally from Vermont. But I refused to give the books over until I read ST. ALBAN'S FIRE. My quote, "I paid (whatever the dollar figure was) for the book and I'll be damned if that book is leaving this house until someone has read it!" Before that book, I'd never read Archer Mayor's work but I got hooked and now have a re-assembled collection of all the Joe Gunther novels.
My mom's last Christmas was also the last Christmas that we did the extended family gathering on Xmas Eve at my aunt's house. There was always some kind of theme to the event and I think that last one was when we had to come dressed as our favorite Christmas character. Not a big thing really but since she passed before Thanksgiving the following year, I do remember how missing out on the two big holidays with her sucked so much.
For less depressing memories, there's the ones from childhood. We three kids would wake up but we had to stay in our rooms until my parents got up and got started. My dad would go out into the kitchen and start coffee. My mom would do stuff like make sure everything was arranged still and put on some Christmas music. And then, clad in our PJs, slippers and bathrobes we would have to walk out backwards and then we got the OK to turn around into our Christmas morning presents wonderland.
DeleteMy uncle was notorious for doing great and/or funny things. Of course, he spent years dressing up as Santa for the younger kids at the Xmas Eve gathering so that was always fun. But it is his humor that I remember most (he's still alive!)
When the original Rainbow Brite doll line came out, the sidekick characters were called Sprites. One of my cousins said she wanted one for Christmas. She said, "I want a Sprite for Christmas" with that exact wording. So my uncle, terror that he is, got her exactly what she said...except it was a 2-liter bottle of Sprite soda. The look on my cousin's face was hilarious in retrospect but man she was horrified. Well, until he pulled out her actual present.
Another funny one was the first year my aunt and uncle hosted a foreign exchange student. She was from The Netherlands and obviously they do Xmas different there. So she was unprepared for my uncle's sense of humor. When he laid out all the Xmas gifts from him that year, each package had a label that said what was "supposedly" inside. What did her package say? "Underwear". She was horrified and wouldn't open the package until others started opening theirs and she then got the joke.
Oh, Jay - thank you for sharing! Love the bit about Archer Mayor books - he'd love to know that. That uncle sounds like an acquired taste. I'm glad he at least had bought the actual doll for your cousin.
DeleteHallie, my uncle with the sense of humor is the best! Always gave the best and most on point gifts but he liked to have fun with it as well.
Deletegreat memories Jay! The sprite reminds me of the Xmas I requested a Tailor's ham (for sewing). My mother thought it was odd, but bought me Taylor's ham as requested!
DeleteVery touching memories, Jay, the sad and the happy ones.
DeleteMy mother, organized, efficient, not a great cook, but a good one. Every Thanksgiving at some point she would say "This turkey is drier than the one from last year". As adults we would tease her saying that the first turkey must have been liquefied and in a Home Depot bucket. Her response was usually the "mom glare" and a shrug.
ReplyDeleteShe also mistakenly grabbed egg nog instead of milk to add to the sweet potato casserole, the kind with marshmallows. She liked it so from that point on that was how the sweet potatoes were served. My teeth ache today just thinking about this.
I sounds like our mothers shared some of the same traits, Hallie. Thank you for sharing the essay, it sparked my memories.
Eggnog and sweet potatoes... mulling... why not!
DeleteMy mother invited two international college students to join us for Thanksgiving. The house was immaculate, the table set with her wedding china and silver. While basting the turkey, it flew out of the roasting pan and across the kitchen floor. Just another American Thanksgiving tradition!
ReplyDeleteMargaret, that's hilarious! Thanks for the chuckle this morning!
DeleteSlippery little guy - I can actually picture it. I once lost a roast duck (not for Thanksgiving) on the way from the kitchen to the table. I picked it up, dusted it off, and we ate it.
DeleteAla Julia Child, Hallie!
DeleteSo poignant, Hallie! And such a vivid description! On her last Christmas, my mom was ensconced in her usual corner of the living room couch, frail, fragile. My dad, brothers and sisters, spouses, nephews, and two aunts were milling about, hovering around her after Christmas dinner. I put a tape of bluegrass music in the tape player. When the fiddle player cut loose, my mom got to her feet and started 'dancing' to the music, laughing. Everyone was laughing, delighted to share her joy in the music of 'home.' It was the only time I'd ever seen her dancing.
ReplyDeleteMUSIC! What a lovely memory!! At our Thanksgiving my daughter unearthed a vinyl Sesame Street record and we all danced to ME LOST ME COOKIE AT THE DISCO... Sweet chaos.
DeleteThe best kind, Hallie! Another Christmas years later--youngest two nephews wearing silly hats and doing a conga-line dance through the house to my Cajun Christmas CD.
DeleteGreat memory, Flora! Do you think your nephew the musician carries that genetic preference? Isn't that his genre?
DeleteThanks, Karen--both youngest nephews are musicians--the older plays classical piano and the younger is more wide-ranging. His preferred instrument is guitar and right now he's focused on outlaw country music, but he's pretty darn good at singing show tunes, too!
DeleteHallie, your essay is very moving.
ReplyDeleteWhen an author writes about their memories of their mother , it touches me in a special way.
My mother died more than fifty years ago and it still affects me especially around Christmas and New Year because she loved it so much.
I remember when she woke us up to go to midnight mass and then we came back home to develop our gifts . All this time she looked at us with so much love and pride, I’ll never forget.
Danielle
Those are lovely memories, Danielle.
DeleteSuch a precious memory, Danielle.
DeleteHallie, your essay sent me searching for my own Thanksgiving memories and I realize that they are very different from my memories of other holidays. The only thing I really remember setting childhood T-Days apart, was sitting on the floor in pajamas, watching a parade on TV. But even those are fuzzy and confused between holidays. I don't remember if we were in NYC at Grandma's apartment or in Connecticut, at home. Was it Macy's parade?
ReplyDeleteMy mother died on Christmas night in 1965. I was a freshman in college. Three years later in November, my dad remarried a local woman. Her birthday and her daughter-in-law's birthday were both around T-Day and they had children. Wherever that family was, that's where Dad and Irene usually flew to spend Thanksgiving. When they were around, she did make a fabulous dinner. She was an excellent cook.
But my memories of Thanksgiving are mostly of being on my own or, when I met Irwin, on our own. We still talk about the time we went skiing on Thanksgiving then dined at Denny's.
When Jonathan came along, I would make a wonderful Thanksgiving and I am pretty sure that we did more family style Thanksgiving dinners during those years. But there has never been a Thanksgiving tradition for us. That's okay. Life is like that sometimes. Last Thursday we dined at Fleming's and laughed about our Thanksgiving dinner at Denny's which was a very nice meal.
OMG memories are complicated, aren't they. Where and when load that day each year with meaning...
DeleteHallie, what a lovely and touching and honest picture your essay paints. I have a couple of Thanksgiving memories--the year my mom called and told me she couldn't remember how to make pumpkin pie (we had it covered, but still)--and Thanksgiving of 2008, 2 months after mom died, carrying dad in his wheelchair up the stairs to Margaret's house. He lasted just two months longer.
ReplyDeleteAt least your mom remembered how to use the phone... Aging is a scary process and holidays highlight the changes.
DeleteHallie,what a poignant memory and lovely photo of your Mom!
ReplyDeleteSomewhere ai have a great photo of my Mom, smiling and posing by the open oven door with the turkey in its roasting pan. My comment was “She gets the photo I did all the work” , which as true. My favourite Thanksgiving was the one where my brother was away in Germany (he was in the Army) and we had the 2 of us, 2 of my friends from college (Idaho and Oregon) who couldn’t go home, and 2 of my Mom’s student nurses who couldn’t go home. My friend from Idaho had potatoes from Idaho to contribute and. six pack of Coors beer, before you could buy it east of the Rockies, to have as our pre-dinner cocktail seven women laughing and talking and having a wonderful time.
Sounds like a great night was had by all. Hope your brother made it to the next Thanksgiving.
DeleteHallie, the 3 years he was I cGer,any he came home every June to take another girl to the high school prom. 😆. We were very happy once his tour was over.
DeleteWhat a lovely tribute to your mother Hallie. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteMy mother's favorite holiday was Thanksgiving. She and my aunt - her sister - would prepare the best Thanksgiving. The stuffing delicious and moist, the turkey perfectly cooked, cranberries, mashed potatoes, home made gravy. And my aunt always made three of the best homemade pies I can ever remember eating - pumpkin, apple, mince meat. Even the crust was so perfect!
We always had mince pie, too, but I've never attempted to make it. Wasn't the main ingredient raisins (not meat)... You're making me think about trying to make a "Christmas pudding" for Christmas. Is that even possible, ingredient-wise these days.
DeleteRhys will know, Hallie. Here's a good article and recipe: https://www.christinascucina.com/traditional-british-christmas-pudding-make-ahead-fruit-brandy-filled-steamed-dessert/
DeleteI LOVE mincemeat pie (raisins and apples, no meat!) but no one else likes it so I never make it. Sigh.
DeleteThat was an achingly beautiful reflection on your mother, Hallie. Thank you for sharing it.
ReplyDeleteWhen I think back on my own family, I can only think of one interesting anecdote: my father died in 1972 and at some Thanksgiving years later -- maybe the 80's? -- my sister and I mentioned to our mother that we missed the homemade noodles that used to be a part of the feast. She looked at us in surprise and said she didn't realize we cared about them. She had never liked them and only made them because Dad liked them. After that she attempted to teach us how to make them, but it had been too long and she couldn't quite recreate the magic of the recipe any more.
My husband is one of eight children, and I have better memories of his family's Thanksgivings over the years, including a few where I was the cook. I was always grateful that our son had the opportunity to enjoy those!
Homemade noodles... sounds like a topic for a future blog... When they're good they're sublime. And there are, what, 2 or 3 ingredients in all?
DeleteMy grandmother Cenia Belle, nearly ninety at the time, killing, plucking a chicken (budget never stretched to turkey which would need to be bought) laughing, stirring cranberries, telling stories, telling stories, telling stories ... nearly burning her garden squash because the stories were more important than the meals.
ReplyDeleteYou're reminding me of the sound of those cranberries bursting as they heat up.
DeleteHallie, it's a little drippy here after reading your poignant memory of your mother's last Thanksgiving.
ReplyDeleteMy mother was an indifferent and uneven cook. She could make mashed potatoes and gravy like a champ, since as #4 of nine kids that had been her dinnertime job every night. And she was whizbang with desserts, the more complicated the better. But the rest of her repertoire was mostly the open a can or box variety of boring.
So when Steve and I got together and we started having holiday dinners with his parents it was an eye-opener. His mother was a fabulous cook, and a brilliant, classy hostess, setting her exquisite table days before a party or holiday. I learned so much from her, including how to seat the lowest status guest in the part of the table where I couldn't cross my legs (she took a long time to warm up to me, and we inherited that table later). She had a stroke five years before she died, so I had to take over the hosting duties, as the only other local female adult. By then she and I had developed a loving relationship, in no small part because of our two adorable daughters, her only local grandkids.
Her last holiday season was about six months before her death, and I have the best photo of her, dressed up and in her wheelchair, with my father-in-law by her side. You wouldn't think that was remarkable, except that Edna hated having her photo taken, despite being married to a world-famous photographer and having three sons who followed their dad's footsteps in one way or the other. But she learned to trust me, and nearly all the pictures we have from her last 30 years are ones I took.
Every time I made a big holiday meal I try to follow Edna's gracious lead, with everyone at the table(s) given equal (mostly) importance, and creating a beautiful setting for as delicious a meal as I can manage. I do not, however, stir the gravy while holding a cigarette with an inch-long ash in the side of my mouth. That accidental "seasoning" is not missed by any of us! And unlike my talented mother-in-law, I can't provide an after-dinner classical piano concert while Steve cleans up.
Ha ha ha! On the cigarette ash. My mother never got close enough to the gravy pot to manage that. But if she'd been a cook she would have.
DeleteWhat wonderful memories Karen! I too had a mother in law who was slow to warm up but became the best of friends and allies.
DeleteThat was a moving and clear-eyed portrait of your mother, Hallie.
ReplyDeleteThanksgiving really became the holiday we all know during the Civil War; before then, it was sporadic and only kept in certain communities. In my mind, it's been linked since then to the melancholy spirit of the times. The Vacant Chair, an enormously popular song from 1862, refers to the bittersweet aspect of the gatherings of family and friends when we recognize not all of us are there:
We shall meet, but we shall miss him.
There will be one vacant chair.
We shall linger to caress him
While we breathe our ev’ning prayer.
When one year ago we gathered,
Joy was in his mild blue eye.
Now the golden cord is severed,
And our hopes in ruin lie.
Gorgeous - Thanks, Julia
DeleteHallie, this is a poignant essay. I read your father's book, WE THOUGHT WE COULD DO ANYTHING, about 35 years ago. Your mother always seemed both talented and glamorous to me. (Selden)
ReplyDelete... and terrifying. Take it from me.
DeleteWhen I was a teen, we had a dog who definitely had a mind of his own! One Thanksgiving everyone was in the living room, probably watching the Macy’s parade. My mom went into the kitchen and discovered that the dog had pushed a chair up to the counter where she left two pumpkin pies to cool off. Oliver, the dog, was helping himself to the pumpkin part of the pies!
ReplyDeleteDebRo
Imagine what Oliver would have done if it had been the turkey on the counter!
DeleteDeb Romano, omg! That brings back an old memory of our Corgi (appropriately named Toulouse Lautrec, Toulouse for short). I was newly married, very young and we had very little money in those days. I made a roasted turkey, left it on the kitchen table and when I came back Toulouse had jumped up and grabbed it and was eating away as fast as he could.
DeleteDeb and Halie, we once had a cat who leapt unseen into the refrigerator and when found a few hours later had gone far to strip the carcass. Elisabeth
DeleteSuch a poignant piece, Hallie. I’m waiting for your memoir to come out!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Rhys - me, too.
DeleteAs a child, I disliked Thanksgiving. When I was a kid, there were no Cartoon or Disney channels. So Mom watched the parade and cooked while Dad watched football. There was nothing for my sister and I to do (though I would guess we read a lot). Consequently, while I definitely understand and embrace the idea of giving thanks, I still don’t really enjoy the holiday itself.
ReplyDeleteChristmas, however, brings back lots of childhood memories. My parents gave one party a year: Christmas Eve. After all the bikes, etc. were assembled, the neighbors would come by for “a” drink. The party started at about 10:30 and usually went until 4:30 a.m. Then we would get our parents up at probably 6:30! In the afternoon we made the rounds of our neighbors, checking out our friends’ new toys. What I didn’t realize until I was an adult is that my parents were getting wasted while the goose was getting basted! — Pat S
Love the punch line!
DeleteHallie, what a lovely essay. Your mother was such a complicated person--the blessing is that bittersweet memories make good fodder for writers.
ReplyDeleteThanksgivings were wonderfully chaotic when I was growing up, with a kitchen full of women. My mom, my grandmother (who lived with us), usually at least two aunts, sometimes three. Things alway seemed to go smoothly, except for the year my grandmother, who was getting a bit forgetful, put the turkey in the oven and forgot to turn the oven on. By the time someone noticed that the turkey wasn't cooking, it was too late to start it, and Thanksgiving that year came from Luby's Cafeteria.
Thanksgiving has for a good many years now been hosted by my Finish aunt, Taina. (She had come from Helsinki to Seattle on some sort of nurse exchange program, I think. This would have been around 1959. There, she met my uncle, my mom's youngest brother, who had been stationed in Seattle in the navy, and they very shortly moved to live a street away from my parents.)
How difficult this must have been for her, I think now, to be thrown into this family with all these alien traditions! But she adapted quickly! Now, she is my only surviving aunt, and at 93, still cooks the traditional turkey, cornbread dressing, gravy, and sweet potatoes with marshmallows. And she's still in the same house they built around 1962, although my parent's house was sold years ago.
May your Thanksgivings be as long and loving as Aunt Tiana’s. Elisabeth
DeleteI love that picture of all the ladies cooking together - mustabeen a roomy kitchen - and your Finish aunt sounds like a champ
DeleteOh, Hallie, you are so talented! And this is so multi-layered and wonderful.
ReplyDeleteYou all know about my mom's outrageous treachery with the oyster stuffing-- it's in my newsletter:
https://mailchi.mp/9b9e346dee9f/i-have-pushed-the-button-7069481
And her turkey was ALWAYS so dry--but every year, she would say, "Oh, this is so perfect and dry!" So as a result, we all grew up thinking dry turkey was the goal. I STILL like dry turkey better. There's definitely a public relations lesson there!
I love your stories about your (as formidable as my) mother.
DeleteThis year I tried "dry brining" the turkey hoping to fix the "it's so dry" problem. Then I forgot to notice whether it made the slightest bit of difference.
(I think it may be why we are so similar....) (xxxxx)
DeleteHallie, beautiful, thank you for writing this memory of your mother. Mine is of my Grammy, her hearing aid, and her four loud and argumentative daughters.. Grammy must have been in her mid-seventies and I in my mid-teens. She wore a hearing aid, when hearing aids were boxes with an attached earphone. (Think transistor radio.) Ladies carried these in little pouches hidden in their cleavage. She at the head of the table. I on her right. She reached carefully, secretively into her cleavage, and turned that hearing aid off. Presided over dessert and coffee with such a gentle smile. Learned so much about and from Grammy that Thanksgiving. Elisabeth
ReplyDeleteElisabeth, she sounds like a wonderful character! Now I'm the one at our table who *should be* wearing my hearing aid and it's tiny and oh so discrete so I have no excuses.
DeleteBut no way to escape like Grammy. Elisabeth
DeleteSuch a poignant Thanksgiving story. Reminds me of movies about childhood memories of long lost loved ones. Thank you for sharing, Hallie!
ReplyDeleteI love this story, Hallie. You paint such a vivid picture. Brilliant.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written, as is everything you write. I can almost smell the turkey.
ReplyDelete