Happy Thanksgiving!

That's a wrap. Another Thanksgiving is over and done. Phew. I always forget how much work it is. I tell myself it's not that much and yet I'm always exhausted when it's done. 

As is tradition, the festivities started with clam dip. It's tradition. Mine never tastes as good as Mom's did, but I still make it every year. 

Next the bird goes in. I cook mine in a bag every year and I'm so glad I do. It turns out perfect every time. Juicy and flavorful. This year I stuffed it with onions, carrots and celery. I have not idea if it makes it better or not, but I can say, this bird was delicious. 

The rest of the meal was rounded out with carbs galore: dressing; honey skillet corn, and mashed potatoes and gravy. Oh and a roll, because why not? 

I didn't make broccoli casserole this year and I gotta say, I missed it. The meal didn't feel quite right without that darn casserole. But the corn is so delicious. I made it for the hunting wives dinner and I thought it would make a nice side for turkey too. Maybe next year I'll make both. 

The usual crowd was here; Janet, Ashely, Claudia and her mom Gisela.

Now the rest of the weekend will be full of taking down fall and putting up Christmas. Saturday we're going to the Holly Jolly bizarre in Snohomish. It's become tradition. 

So now that all the specifics are done, let me just say, this year I'm very thankful for all I have and for all the people around me. I have a pretty darn good life and fantastic people in it. I'm thankful for all of it.

Missing Stories

Not long ago I stumbled onto a hard drive that belonged to mom. On it I found folders and folders of photos. Amongst those folders were so many of my baby pictures I've never seen. 

Being the second child, I have long since come to grips with having fewer baby photos than my older sister. I get it. The first on is exciting. The second is - well - the second. And, to be fair, we didn't take photos in the late 1960s like we do today. Far from it. 

So having found these photos I knew immediately I wanted to scrapbook them. I wanted to begin at the beginning and work my way through the 70's and 80's of my life. 

It has been so much fun looking at these photos. There's only one problem. I have no stories to go with them. And the main story telling, Mom, isn't with me to tell me. 

I'll admit this thought made me sad. I have so many questions about some of the photos I've found. Like this one? Why? What is the story with the McDonald's hat? I know it's 1969 but I haven't a clue why my sister and I are wearing these hats. 

I've scrapped a handful of the photos. And without having stories it makes it very hard to journal on them. I could say on every page, "I don't know the story here but..." 

And that got me thinking about making up my own stories. I could, technically, rewrite my whole childhood and no one would know. That poses an interesting question about rewriting your history and whether it's the right thing to do. Truth be told, I'm not creative of a storyteller so doubt I'd come up with anything overly interesting. 

I decided today that without the stories, that's going to have to be ok. Scrapping the photos has to be enough. My family who will look at these pages won't care that there's no story (I hope). Then once I'm gone from this world, no one will care either so having a story isn't as important as I want it to be. 

But dammit...I want the stories. I want to sit with mom and look at each photo and ask her to tell me what was going on. It hurts deeply that I can't. It will be my one big regret in my life that I didn't ask more questions about her stories and mine. 

Some stories I know, or do I? I see photos like this one of me sitting on a desk at my grandparents house. I have fond memories of playing on that desk. I have not so fond memories of having "time outs" on that desk too. I wonder, frequently, if the memories I have are real, or are the one's I've created BECAUSE of this photo? I'll never know for sure. 

So if you're reading this, and your mom and dad are still her, sit with them and get the stories. Take the time to ask questions about the stories of your childhood and theirs. Write those stories down. Because one day, you won't have them there to ask.