Thanksgiving Dinner at Waga's
My grandmother was called Waga because her first grandchild misspoke grandmother. She was a wealthy woman than live in a turn of the century house. Waga always had Thanksgiving dinner at her house for as long as I could remember. I attended more than 30 of these semi-formal occasions.
We always eagerly awaited this traditional even. A precursor to the Christmas celebration with out the gifts I expected in my youth. We always dressed in our Sunday best, as I closely watching the football game and anticipating the feast to follow. Waga always had it planned out even keeping journals from years past. There was always a mix of the predictable and the random.
We always arrived promptly at six, a tradition I kept after leaving the nest. Cocktails and hors derves were served. Soda for the young, became Scotch for me later. It was Waga's choice as well. Others came some predictably would wander in. Light conversation was echoed in the air. Often we would play "Guess Who I am" which I never did understand at first until spouses and significant others entered the night. Some lasted, some complexed matters.
The core guests were almost always there. My mother and father, my three brothers, Aunt Mary until she moved away and finally saw God. Her first two husbands because they raised her children and they continued in our family. My six cousins, two of which lived with us that became the sisters I never had.
One died young and that still has an influence on my life.
There were other relatives and friends from time to time. My great-aunt Jane was always there. She was also a great stately widow I admired and loved. For most I remember her was teaching us boys how to climb the rope that held the swinging tire. She was in her sixty then. Others told of life out east, Chicago and a cattle ranch in Montana.
Dinner was around seven and Waga even planned our seating. Placecarda dictated our seating choices surrounded by elegant decorations lovingly hand crafted by Waga. No one ever showed signs of overindulgence, which was amazing for some. At larger Thankgivigins some guests had to sit in the hallway which could have been a sign of prejudice except for Waga's wisdom. Still I was an honor to sit in the dinning room.
Waga's constant helper Irene first served salad or fancy soup. For larger occasion, Irene would have an assistant. She escaped the horrors of World War II, events I was never told of to this day. My father carved the turkey unless larger celebrants required two turkeys. He taught me well on the proper use of a knife for such events. Then he said grace, an art I know longer continue.
Dinner was self-served on white plates with gold inlay. Wine was always served announced with name. Irene added mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans topped with almonds. Even though predictable, it was a gatroninomical joy I can taste to this day.
Conversation often turned to current event both within our lives and worldly ranging from the everyday to the comical. Waga sometimes spoke of famous people she knew such as J. C. Penny, Johnny Blood or Claire Booth Luce. The stories of Delbert the melon man more interested me but I can tell you that another time.
The feast within itself was secondary to the bonding topped off with a fantastic ever-changing desert. Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only times I enjoyed coffee served in small cups at such a late hour.
After dinner festivities held varied games ranging from Find the Thimble for the young, to Charades for the not so young. Always Waga showed movies of our past as we laughed with new love ones over our childhood. There were also remembrances of my grandfather for whom I gained my name. I never really knew him but yet I do.
This chapter in my life is now closed. Waga's book is finished. I have new traditions as the father of a new family and our own treasured ways. One thing remains, the white plates with gold inlay are in my possession. I think of her at thanksgiving as we enjoy our feast.
Email: gil millholland
We always eagerly awaited this traditional even. A precursor to the Christmas celebration with out the gifts I expected in my youth. We always dressed in our Sunday best, as I closely watching the football game and anticipating the feast to follow. Waga always had it planned out even keeping journals from years past. There was always a mix of the predictable and the random.
We always arrived promptly at six, a tradition I kept after leaving the nest. Cocktails and hors derves were served. Soda for the young, became Scotch for me later. It was Waga's choice as well. Others came some predictably would wander in. Light conversation was echoed in the air. Often we would play "Guess Who I am" which I never did understand at first until spouses and significant others entered the night. Some lasted, some complexed matters.
The core guests were almost always there. My mother and father, my three brothers, Aunt Mary until she moved away and finally saw God. Her first two husbands because they raised her children and they continued in our family. My six cousins, two of which lived with us that became the sisters I never had. One died young and that still has an influence on my life.
There were other relatives and friends from time to time. My great-aunt Jane was always there. She was also a great stately widow I admired and loved. For most I remember her was teaching us boys how to climb the rope that held the swinging tire. She was in her sixty then. Others told of life out east, Chicago and a cattle ranch in Montana.
Dinner was around seven and Waga even planned our seating. Placecarda dictated our seating choices surrounded by elegant decorations lovingly hand crafted by Waga. No one ever showed signs of overindulgence, which was amazing for some. At larger Thankgivigins some guests had to sit in the hallway which could have been a sign of prejudice except for Waga's wisdom. Still I was an honor to sit in the dinning room.
Waga's constant helper Irene first served salad or fancy soup. For larger occasion, Irene would have an assistant. She escaped the horrors of World War II, events I was never told of to this day. My father carved the turkey unless larger celebrants required two turkeys. He taught me well on the proper use of a knife for such events. Then he said grace, an art I know longer continue.
Dinner was self-served on white plates with gold inlay. Wine was always served announced with name. Irene added mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans topped with almonds. Even though predictable, it was a gatroninomical joy I can taste to this day.
Conversation often turned to current event both within our lives and worldly ranging from the everyday to the comical. Waga sometimes spoke of famous people she knew such as J. C. Penny, Johnny Blood or Claire Booth Luce. The stories of Delbert the melon man more interested me but I can tell you that another time.
The feast within itself was secondary to the bonding topped off with a fantastic ever-changing desert. Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only times I enjoyed coffee served in small cups at such a late hour.
After dinner festivities held varied games ranging from Find the Thimble for the young, to Charades for the not so young. Always Waga showed movies of our past as we laughed with new love ones over our childhood. There were also remembrances of my grandfather for whom I gained my name. I never really knew him but yet I do.
This chapter in my life is now closed. Waga's book is finished. I have new traditions as the father of a new family and our own treasured ways. One thing remains, the white plates with gold inlay are in my possession. I think of her at thanksgiving as we enjoy our feast.
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