We had a terrific Thanksgiving again this year. True, the same could have been said about the last fifty or sixty Thanksgivings, each special in their own way -- you know, the newest baby; the boyfriend / girlfriend we’d not yet met; the coldest-ever touch football game out north of the house (okay, that was quite a few years ago).
Paula and I made an informal agreement with family members twenty-plus years ago that we’d host Thanksgiving until it’s no longer possible. Our house blueprints were partially an outgrowth of this commitment. A conversation with our architect, Tom: “So, what do you envision DOING here?” he asked me while visiting the site. “Well, among other things, we’re going to wrest control of the gathering ‘hearth’ from my parents’ cut-up floor plan, enabling us to host family holidays.” (The prior Thanksgiving we’d met in the church fellowship hall, okay for dining but not the most convivial setting.)
“So, how many will there be when you gather?” Important question. “Oh, maybe 25 or 30… sometimes 35 or 40.” Tom looked at me. “You wanna build a big house.” “I guess we do.”
We numbered “only” 22 this year, something accomplished with relative ease. The dining table expands to accommodate a dozen; three can be seated at the counter. Two card tables are employed, one for diners, one for beverages. Our granddaughters’ art table was brought out of storage and set for four grandnieces.
This year’s gathering featured a house blessing. After the feast meal settled a bit, we all made our pilgrimage to my brother and sister-in-law’s new home (formerly my parents’), a two-minute car journey. My clergy brother spent the holiday with his in-laws, meaning I drew the can-you-pull-together-a-brief-ceremony assignment. Sure. A few remarks about the “good bones” underlying a structure built almost 60 years ago, partially rebuilt after fire damage several decades ago, most recently renovated for new inhabitants. Readings from the Old Testament; prayers lifted from various stations throughout the house.
What I wish to share in this ramble is the tension – a mostly positive tension – between tradition and change, between things remaining as they’ve always been and adapting to meet new challenges, between previous and future generations, between cherished memories and looking out into the future. Sometimes transitions are so gradual, so modest, we hardly notice. But upon looking back five or ten years, we see almost nothing remains static. Traditions evolve… but then, don’t we all?
For several years, cheesy potatoes have been served next to mashed potatoes like Grandma used to make; we’ll probably do without Grandma’s spuds within a decade. Sandbakkels and lefse are savored without reference to our Scandinavian roots. We cite the legacies of nine family members whose absence is felt; grandnieces don’t recall these dear ones since their departures happened before the girls were born.
Our informal house blessing was an opportunity to revel briefly in a history shared by my siblings and me. I flash back to October, 1964, when a ten-year-old boy helped haul boxes from “the old house” – now the front lawn – to a then-new structure, which meant abandoning my beloved ball diamond. We’re now hopeful that the farmstead my parents bought seven decades ago will remain in the family for a century, maybe longer. We meander from room to room, seeking God’s blessing on activities that will happen there, even more so, on people engaging in these activities.
A verse from the blessing: By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures. (from Proverbs 24). And a prayer: Grant your blessing, Lord, that all who enter this home find peace in your company and joy in the company of others. Make this a safe place for all who come here and a station for being of service to others. May its walls provide shelter; may its warmth provide comfort; may its rooms be filled with happy memories… season after season, year after year.
My conclusion: There are transition traditions and tradition transitions. We’re all stewards of both.
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I’m pleased to be part of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. My colleagues:
Thank you for the lovely family story, Kurtis. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you!