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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The smell of the sage Mom always puts into turkey stuffing Still makes my taste buds go insane with delicious puffing. Thanksgiving would not be complete without the cinnamon and sugar crust Rolled out to perfection, and baked with every bit of fuss. The table is set with a cloth tablecloth, reserved for special days. We have wiped down every surface spotless, until we are crazed. Potato casserole, and corn pudding are set to come out of the oven together. If we could have a tiny bit of snow, we would be grateful for the sweet weather. Sister and I are flitting and fluttering around the table, setting forks in place. The cousins are coming from two directions, we know for them it’s a race. Our room is all cleaned up, so we can park ourselves and our cousins in there. This was in the sixties, when adults did not let children linger or stare. It is 1960 and our cousin has not turned into a mean girl yet. We very much love her, and share her, like she is a pet. Our mother calls us to the kitchen and we agree to take care of the little ones. She thinks it is a chore, but it is actually all kinds of fun. The hot rolls and biscuits come out the second the relatives arrive. There is laughter and hugging, and we all seem to thrive. But first the blessing, which our mother imparts in the very best way. I can remember this Thanksgiving in so many smells and sights of the day. Written 11-3-2019 Contest: A Thanksgiving Memory Sponsor: Regina Riddle
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