Pied Piper, Oz, and Turkey with Stuffing

When I was young we only had turkey and stuffing once or twice a year, so Thanksgiving was about all about the dinner.

Early in the morning, Mom started her preparations—rinsing the turkey, making stuffing, peeling and cooking potatoes and sweet potatoes. After breakfast, we kids were shooed into the living room where the slow, drifting perfume of roasting turkey triggered appetites. Christmas wasn’t the only holiday to produce anticipation intense enough to match the actual event, in this case, turkey dinner.

To amuse ourselves, we celebrated annual routines. Early in the afternoon, we watched Van Johnson’s The Pied Piper of Hamelin (1957), a musical with melodies based on Grieg’s classical music. We were familiar with those because Mom and Dad played piano, and owned an impressive collection of classical records.

“Flim flam floo, flim flam floo, the world is full of wonderment and magic,” the Pied Piper sang.

But the crowning piece of music was the Pied Piper’s lure to first, the rats, and later, the children, In the Hall of the Mountain King, played on his magic flute. Now, in our family, we were well familiar with the tune, and I never found it frightening, as the adults in Hamelin described it, and I would have followed the Piper anywhere.

Dinner was a gathering of Mom’s parents, Dad, and our horde of hungry locust-children, with pumpkin or mince pie afterwards, and of course, a mountain of dishes.

Thanksgiving evening was The Wizard of Oz, where we knew the words and melodies to every song (since we owned the soundtrack), and savored the familiar scenes and story.

“If I were King of the for-est…”

“We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz.”

“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home…”

There’s no place like home.

In those days, we believed our Thanksgiving routines would last forever.

When I was married with growing children, the year came when I took over the Thanksgiving dinner and invited Mom, Dad, and the rest of our family. Over time, as we moved away from each other, traditions changed, yet when I think about Thanksgiving, we kids are still hoping to open the oven and snitch a pinch of stuffing, savor the coming delights of turkey, cranberries, pie, and enjoy, once again, two of our favorite movies.

Years later, when Dad was gone and Mom was in a nursing home, I would have Thanksgiving lunch with her in the communal dining room, where favorite dishes were served on linen, with flowers, and Mom and I could share memories of our long-ago Thanksgiving feasts.

I miss Mom most at Thanksgiving.

Many of us have lost family members, in the past or recently, and Thanksgiving may not be the family reunion we once shared or wish we had.

For me, it’s no longer about the meal. Of course, I can stuff and roast a turkey, serve pie with whipped cream, and sit down with children and grandchildren, but I admit Thanksgiving is about my childhood family, no longer available.

“Home, home…” Dorothy says at the end of her adventure, “and you’re all here…and oh, Auntie Em, there’s no place like home.”

Happy Thanksgiving, Mom, Dad. Happy Thanksgiving to all of my family.

And Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, whether it’s through past memories or while gathering with family and friends.

Thanksgiving is about gratitude for family as much as it is remembering any historical event.

After all, no matter where you are today, there’s no place like home.