Patchwork Holiday

It’s the day before Thanksgiving.

The air is chilly for a Bay Area day–the high temperature only in the 50’s. The trees are in full fall color after stretching the season out as long as they could, finally starting to fill the streets and sidewalks with their lovely, crunchy litter. The leaves on my persimmon tree are bright orange and yellow, with the shiny, deep-orange persimmons peeking through. Soon, the leaves will drop, leaving the fruit hanging like ornaments on the black tree limbs.

Two of the kids are on their way home now, flying into the Oakland airport. I can’t sit still waiting, hurrying the minutes along until I see them, hug them, gather them home. Another will be home this evening, lugging a case of wine she picked out for the holidays. I got their rooms all ready, pillows plumped and extra blankets on the bed, and I gave the dog a good scrubbing yesterday.

I’ve got plans for them–food to make, shopping to do, restaurants to visit, movies to watch. They may have plans too, and friends to see, but for this afternoon and tomorrow at least, they are my babies again.

The 21-pound turkey is in the fridge, and ten pounds of potatoes, 6 pounds of brussels sprouts and 5 pounds of apples are waiting to be peeled and chopped. Day-old loaves of sourdough bread are ready to be cubed, toasted and combined with sage and thyme and rosemary for stuffing. The four pounds of butter I bought will disappear, I know from experience, into pie crusts, stuffing, rolls and other deliciousness before tomorrow is over.

Three of the kids won’t be around the Thanksgiving table this year; two have to work, another will be at her boyfriend’s family celebration. Two of them will be home for parts of the weekend to see everyone and enjoy leftovers. Plans are forming to get the Christmas tree on Friday; they can all be together for that tradition, if not for the feast.

One of my sisters will join us tomorrow with her family, but my other sister will have a lonelier holiday, with only her two girls there. A snow storm threatening the Rocky Mountain region–perhaps the same storm that brought us rain and these chilly days, moving east now–is keeping our parents from joining her, and stranding them alone for the holiday too.

Together and apart, on the holiday and after, it’s the dance of family, and it leaves me both filled and empty, sometimes at the same time. I will have some here, close, literally in my arms, I will be looking for some, waiting for them to arrive, and I will be missing others, aching for them, worried that they are lonely.

This is how it will be as children grow up and we all grow older, this patchwork of togetherness–seeing some here, others there, now and later, bringing greetings, sending hugs. I’m thankful for all these moments–here or on the way or somewhere else, and dream of a day when we will all be together at the same time.

For now, though, I’m off to the airport.