Sunflower Powers Thru

A Thankful Outlook

Thanksgiving has become somewhat of a weighty seasonal celebration for me. Families get together and eat a traditional meal, right? Sometimes, you have to do the best you can with what you've got.

When attrition takes the general group one has considered as full-blooded family, one is left with the responsibility of making merry-as-possible with whomever is left to make merry. My mom with her incredibly limited diet, and now the additional physical challenge of limited mobilty (Mom needs a cane to not fall over for the past few weeks), have replaced the seats of honor once occupied by esteemed relations. Thanksgiving is a whole different turkey than it used to be.

For years, since my dad died in '74, Mom and my Aunt Irene, and my Great Aunt Bettie, would dress ourselves to the nines, and go to a fancy hotel or an elegant restaurant that was serving a special (priced) holiday dinner. Nobody had to cook or clean up, everybody could eat as much of whatever they wanted (for me, one year in Houston at the Adam's Mark, the dessert buffet fit my bill of fare), and a good time is generally had by all.

One year, Mom goofed, from her perspective. We attended a champagne brunch buffet. My mom and Aunt Bettie don't drink at all, and are very opinionated about the evils of alcoholic spirits. As we've all spent most of our lives as single women on a budget, it is also law that things, food, drink, etc. shall not be wasted.

We were seated at the far edge of the dining room, facing out on the scenic fountains. Were were escorted to a large a round table that would seat five. The waiter holding each chair, and seating each of us in turn, making us each feel like very special people. Mom and I have both worked as a hostess in a nice/expensive restaurant, so we were both enjoying the finer graces which that we had often bequeathed on others.

On the other hand, Aunt Bettie had a totally different attitude about dining out. It should be cheap, and good. For one thing, she didn't believe in tipping, and I think it had a lot to do with her age and her gestalt. She said waitresses got a salary, and it was their job to do what they did, and she wasn't responsible for paying them any more than their boss thought they were worth. She was obviously never a waitress, as one who has been on the receiving end respects the value of good service.

Aunt Bettie was also the queen of frugal, also known as cheap. She didn't pay any more for anything than was absolutely necessary. She most enjoyed when her boyfriend, Morris, would take her out to dinner at the little town cafe, where they lived in Van Alystene, Texas. Even then, though the locals said Morris was well off, Aunt Bettie didn't order the most expensive item on the menu.

Great Aunt Bettie saved her money: pennies, nickels from the Christmas club, dimes, baby sitting money, for all those years she worked. One day she bought herself the most beautiful, most luxurious, rose colored Buick, loaded with all the bells and whistles. She traded in the '48 Plymouth, and got a new 1980 Bonneville. She died six months later. Enjoy while you can!

Three glasses of champange were set, and the waiter began to pour before my mother had a chance to say don't, "two of us don't drink". As he poured, the waiter assured us that the bubbly amber beverage was complementary, at absolutely no extra charge.

The waiter asked my Great Aunt if he could fill her glass, to which she nodded and mumbled, "yes." It was one of those kind of yes replies that one says to be agreeable in a conversational setting, without actually understanding what is being asked or said. I heard on a recent TV news story, that that's the way men hear women. They hear the sound, but the words don't register in the brain. "Yes, dear."

When the tuxedo clad waiter began pouring champagne into my Aunt's glass, she emitted a sound that some would consider a shriek. People's heads turned our way.

"Ah! What are you doing? What is that old nasty stuff? Don't put that in my glass!" By this time Aunt Bettie had backed her chair away from the table, and herself almost out of her seat. If the devil was serving champagne, it just might be time to go. My aunt was born in 1911, never married, and spoke her mind at all times. In another vein, she also told great stories.

The poor waiter very graciously acknowledged he wouldn't need to be watching her flute for any refills, and excused himself from our table. Now we had the private opportunity to get our act together.

Mom didn't approve of my drinking, however, there were two bubbling glasses of champage sitting on our celebratory table. It would be wrong to waste it.

My mother casually picked up her glass of champagne, and placed it next to my glass of champagne. It was the first time my mom encouraged me to drink. Aunt Bettie joined us in a big laugh when she caught on to what was happening. She still didn't want any champagne, although she offered to get a glass--since it came with the meal--so we would enjoy the full benefit of the buffet.

Irene died in the early 90s. My step-father passed away in 1999. Mom and I have gone to the Old Sanfrancisco Steak House to celebrate in recent years, but this year we brought home take out from Dixie House restaurant.

It's not the food, or surroundings, that make Thanksgiving a family celebration. It's sharing time with those you love, and generating fond memories of haapy times that will last for a lifetime.