The best Thanksgivings aren’t always the ones that go as planned

Thanksgiving is a particularly rich repository of memories, some poignant, many priceless, all cherished. Our Thanksgivings, more often than not, have proven the wisdom of observations about best-laid plans.

In November of 1966, my husband Fred was hired as deputy prosecuting attorney for Thurston County. His first paycheck wouldn’t arrive until the end of the month, however, and once we’d rented a furnished house near the State Capitol Museum, our funds were pretty well exhausted.

Then, my plans to work as a substitute teacher were stymied when someone stole all of my clothes from our parked car at the Golden Gavel Motel. In that era, a skirt (and girdle!) was as necessary for a woman teaching public school as her college degree.

Fortunately, Fred’s family invited us to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. We were literally salivating in anticipation of that feast — and hoping to take home some leftovers. So our disappointment was palpable when we learned that dinner was off because everyone had the flu. Undaunted, and armed with our last $5, we drove along Hood Canal and stopped at the Hoodsport Café for a cup of coffee. As it turned out, $5 bought us coffees and a bowl of oyster stew apiece. Fifty years later, we still consider it our best-ever Thanksgiving dinner.

The following year, we’d bought a home, so we invited Fred’s family for Thanksgiving. I was bent on showing off my culinary skills with my 25-pound turkey, perfectly roasted and golden brown. Before anyone could admire it, however, in a misguided effort to be helpful, a guest carved the entire bird and arranged it on a platter. Farewell glory — welcome to my “all you can eat” diner.

Food foibles are not the only source of Thanksgiving mishaps, of course. The Roto Rooter years are possibly our most memorable. On several consecutive Thanksgivings, the kitchen sink backed up, necessitating calls to Mr. Roto Rooter, always just as we were preparing to eat. Finally, I invited him to join us for dinner the following year. He declined, but he left a jug of drain cleaner.

Thanksgiving is also the perfect time to extend hospitality to “orphans” — those friends and neighbors who don’t have family close by and might otherwise be warming up a TV turkey dinner. Occasionally, when clients revealed they didn’t have plans, they’ve joined us as well. After all, a menu of turkey, cranberries, mashed potatoes and gravy expands easily.

And I have been the recipient of others’ generosity too. One year, when I was recovering from knee replacement, our friend Jane, knowing I’d never acknowledge I needed help, arrived from Canada on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving to take charge. A godsend!

This year added new twists and memories. We celebrated Thanksgiving with our family COVID bubble a week early, as our daughter, Kate, would be working on Thanksgiving, and I was scheduled for surgery the following day.

For the first time ever, I prepared puree for the pumpkin pie from scratch. Kate then took over the pie-making, including adding sugar and spices to the mix. Distracted, however, by children on a treasure hunt (and her chatty mother), she inadvertently doubled the ginger. Yuck! Fred was dispatched forthwith to Ralph’s for canned pumpkin, and the following day, my granddaughters and I stirred the over-gingered puree into pumpkin gingerbread (served to rave reviews). We call it “Mama’s Mistake.”

We have so much to be grateful for this year — most importantly, our memories, of good food in the company of family and friends, and of the humor and relief that accompany averted disasters.

Mary Gentry, who moved to Olympia in 1966, has worked in education and law, served on many non-profit boards and is a director for Olympia Federal Savings. She has published two collections of essays, “Quite Contrary” and “Too Far from the Tree.” She is a member of The Olympian’s 2020 Board of Contributors. Reach her at mgentrystoryteller@gmail.com

This story was originally published December 4, 2020 at 5:45 AM.