By Patricia Chadwick
For years and years, family plans for Thanksgiving would have been locked in place most likely a few months before that fabled fourth Thursday in November. There would have been flights to book, people to invite, and maybe even a little haggling: “Why can’t Aunt Lydia come to our house this year? She was with you last year.”
There is almost, or so it seems to me, a kind of subliminal competition among those hosting the Thanksgiving dinner at their house. The higher the number of guests, the greater the badge of honor. It’s not about how big your family is; rather, it’s about your reach into the community. The friends of one’s college aged children, who cannot get to their own homes, perhaps thousands of miles away, are prime candidates as guests. Their youthful energy and rollicking laughter have a way of livening the conversation.
The need to add an extension to the dining room table or add a second table is a sure sign of success. Of course, nothing less than a twenty-six-pound turkey will do, and on occasion even a second turkey is slipped into the oven.
There was a time, about twenty years ago, when our Thanksgiving table (make that plural) was crammed with young Oxbridge graduates, who had arrived on our shores as organ and vocal scholars at Christ Church Greenwich. As the volunteer chair of the Music Commission at the church, it was my role—one which I greatly relished—to ensure that they were housed, fed and entertained. They were eminently capable of achieving without any help from me or the myriad volunteer moms (and dads, too) who did everything to make their lives as close to heaven on earth as possible.
They were an adored lot, and there was no lack of families who wanted to host them. They came to love our uniquely American feast and to this day I get text messages and emails wishing me felicitations on Thanksgiving Day.
Then came COVID-19. It struck early in the year, and I remember well that day in March of 2020 when Americans were advised to stay home—“for a couple of weeks.” That was how it was worded. I turned to my husband and said, “Two weeks will turn into two months.”
Who would have thought then that it would come close to two years? Our lives were forever changed, both physically and emotionally. Fear gripped the country (and the whole world) as we entered a state of lockdown. We followed orders—donning masks, wearing gloves, wiping down packages, scrubbing countertops, and washing our hands with Purex every few minutes. But COVID didn’t go away. It just got worse.
The short summer lull in new cases ended as the weather turned cooler and Thanksgiving approached. For the first time in memory, we realized that it would be a different kind of Thanksgiving. Only “pod members” could share in the celebrations. For most of us that meant just the immediate family that had been hunkering down under the same roof.
As Thanksgiving approached, I remember thinking, “How small do turkeys come?” and I felt lucky when I discovered a twelve-pound bird. There were only three of us sitting at the table—a far cry from the fourteen of the year before. We had much to be thankful for, but we were saddened that too many others, including dear friends, did not share our good fortune.
It is now twelve months later and Thanksgiving is upon us once again. How things have changed for the better! COVID, with all its variants, still holds us hostage, but the light is pouring in at the far end of the tunnel. Vaccines, boosters and the brand new anti-viral pill have all become a reality since the beginning of the year. Admittedly, breakthrough cases are alarmingly many—but the hospitalizations and deaths are a small fraction of what they were a year ago.
Masks are still an important part of our regular wardrobe, but nearly unrestricted travel is allowing many to “get home” for Thanksgiving this year. It won’t be the crowds of old—not quite yet—but it’s a giant step from this time last year.
For this we can all be thankful, keeping in mind the morning and pain that remain with so many who lost their loved ones to the pandemic.
Wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving!
Patricia Chadwick is a businesswoman and an author. Her recently published memoir, Little Sister, the story of her unusual childhood growing up in a cult, is now available in paperback. She is currently working on her second book, Breaking Glass, about her “growing up” on Wall Street. www.patriciachadwick.com
