11/27/03 Thanksgiving 2003:

Waking up in what used to be my summer room during my 3.5 years of college, I noticed the tapestry hanging from the door handle of "my" room. Rose Muravchick made this for me as a birthday present back in 1999. She was a weaving counselor. She taught many a teenager how to do this, in addition to being good at it herself. And it made me smile to see.

I like the back too, because it shows all the string involved. This needs a permanent place to hang from.

I made my "famous" multi-dip platter for the chips. Cheese, Avocado, Salsa (with fresh diced tomato thrown in) and Sour Cream.

The set table.

I am sent to pick up Peter and his roommate Brendan at the Port Washington train station. They come in on one of the new M-7 electric trains.

A great deal of people arrive from NYC, all going to thanksgiving dinners. It's weeeird when suddenly everyone is doing the same thing. It happens during rush hours, holidays, extreme or unusual weather conditions, and terrorist attacks.

Peter cooked 2 dishes to add to the feast back at his dorm kitchen in the city! Both his stuffing and cranberry compote (what the hell is a compote) were excellent!!!

Over 15 of us had Thanksgiving together this year. Left to Right: Daddy, Nana, Reina (mom's friend), Jonathan (her son), Brendan, Peter, Reina's BF, and Uncle Jack facing away from camera on far right.

Aunt Diane and Uncle Ira arrive with Russell in the back seat.

A family tradition... my grandmother makes a cranberry jelly mold in the shape of a fish with eyes made of olives.

Papa tells war stories about working on the tanks in north Africa and Italy. He was a tank repairman. He married by grandmother 6 months before being shipped off to war, and was gone for over 3 years.

A nice glass plate is dropped. My mother reenacts the moment.

Peter serves the bread.

Daddy loves cutting the bird.

Shira and Russell at the buffet.

Me and Mommy.

The entire group at the table. If ever you believe something to be true because you saw it in a photograph... use this photo as your reminder that it's not necessarily so. One big happy family, right? Wrong. Two families. Merelis and Lakser. Both officially broken. Much strife over the years. Some water under the table, some wounds still bleed. But......the love is there. The thanksgiving is there. The good times and memories are there too. And so while it may look like the ideal of a family dinner in America on Thanksgiving, with Mom and Dad in aprons in the back smiling for the camera.... in many ways, it is. We just didn't get to this moment the usual route. And we're gonna continue to take the not-so-usual route from here on as well. It's who we all are. And even though our families' paths may deviate from the ideal or the expected, we still end up, every so often, with a moment like this. And so it works.

We had a little bit of a space problem with all the guests, so Dad is roughing it in a chair in the corner in his apron.

Reina and her two children.

Mommy and her now take out menus box. A good idea. Why throw the menus in a drawer when you can put them in a box, which you can carry your menus in all at once. Need the menus upstairs? Don't grab a handfull of papers and risk papercut or dried out fingers! Grab your new menu take-out box, and all take out menus are to-go!!!

I, of course, face off, once again, with Russell in Chess. I finally beat him for the first time since he was 5 years old, and not for a lack of intense trying since he was 6. He's now 11. And he's mature enough to take the loss in stride and not get all upset about it. A few years ago that might not have been the case, so he's growing up. We all grow up our entire lives... it never stops... but it's so much easier to see in kids because it happens at an accelerated pace. I "grew up" thinking that I would be "grown up" when I was 20. I found, right around my 20th year, that being a "grown up" means realizing that you never stop "growing up." And so the whole naming system.... the idea of a "grown up" is an oxymoron. So I think if "when I grow up" is replaced with "when I'm an adult," we might set our kids up for more realistic expectations: That they'll always be "growing up" and that they'll hopefully never be a "grown up," because if they think they have, they'll most likely be acting like a child. Anyway, Russell is growing up well and it was a pleasure, instead of a fiasco, when I finally beat him. And I attribute my success entirely to his tutelage, which means, in a way, that my every victory is a victory for Russell the tutor, if not for Russell the game-opponent.

Lounging after the meal.

Tradition can mean a prayer. Tradition can mean a ceremony. Tradition can mean a costume or a meal. But in this moment, tradition means that my father will predictably take interest in my death-match with Russell about halfway through the game when it begins to get very tense, and then yell at me for every other move I make until I win or lose the game. That, to me, is tradition. It's habit mixed with a holiday. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Mommy. You made a marvelous thanksgiving, yet again, in the face of budgetary, time, and space constraints. You have been throwing thanksgiving dinners in the face of adversity for as long as I can remember. I have video of Thanksgiving in 1995 at 8 Vanad Drive as proof. Next year, before you start stressing, look at these photos. Watch that videotape. And remember that you are the worlds leading expert in throwing Thanksgiving holidays for the Merelis/Polakoff/Lakser clan, and that nobody has as much experience, talent, and agility in making it work as you.