Parenting Guru: Thanksgiving, grace and cranberries

"Grace isn't a little prayer you chant before receiving a meal. It's a way to live. "--Dwight L. Moody

Thanksgiving always reminds me of grace, and grace makes me think of my mother. Growing up, Turkey Day--as we kids called it, to my mother's chagrin-was a kaleidoscope of sounds and smells that still brings comfort to me each November. First, I'd hear Mom's padded slippers as she crept downstairs early in the morning while the rest of the family slept on. Then, the muffled sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing as she transformed the chaotic pile of vegetables into mouthwatering side dishes.

And then, hours later, strolling downstairs to the kitchen myself and seeing her in her chenille bathrobe and curlers, staring calmly out the window, firmly in control of the feast.

Mom had a rule on Thanksgiving; there was no such thing as too much butter. She used butter in the mashed potatoes, butter in the stuffing, butter (and bacon!) to grease the turkey, and butter in the pan for good measure. My grandmother's crystal butter dish stood center stage at the table, and the pies were heavy with Land-o-Lakes goodness. It was a lardfest and we loved it. Years later, when I hosted my first Thanksgiving dinner for the in-laws, it was my Mom who walked me through the critical steps to mastering the perfect gravy, with just the right amount of grease.

One time Mom forgot a key dinner ingredient: Ocean Spray cranberry sauce, which she gingerly extracted from the can and placed, like a jewel, on her good china. Year after year, we teased her about this lapse by imitating her overreaction that cold November afternoon, hours after the meal as we sat around watching a football game on TV. With an exaggerated palm-to-forehead slap, she jumped out of her reclining chair while gasping, "The cranberries!!" as if she'd committed a mortal sin and ran off to the kitchen. Whenever we retold that story, she'd flash her sweet, warm smile and soak up the ribbing with her usual good humor and grace.

The first Thanksgiving after Mom passed away was difficult for my family; the menu and the rituals were the same, but we all missed her loving presence and there was an undercurrent of sadness that was impossible to ignore. Last year, things brightened a bit and we were able to tell "Nana stories" that made us laugh, not cry. After we say Grace at the Thanksgiving table this year, I think I'll share the Cranberry Story with her grandchildren. Maybe I'll even reenact the dash to the kitchen. And I'm planning on serving plenty of butter.