On Friday I sliced into an onion for soup and immediately the aroma took me to Thanksgiving. As much as I enjoy eating Thanksgiving dinner, I enjoy cooking it just as much–especially the bread stuffing. The scent of onions, celery and herbs sauteed in butter fills the kitchen. I add the soft breadcrumbs, stir, then start picking at it to make sure the seasoning is right.  I’m usually doing this late Wednesday evening, the house is quiet, warm, and I could easily make a midnight snack of this mixture before any of it sees the inside of our turkey.

Growing up, Thanksgiving meant feasts at my grandparents’. At one home we ate both turkey and ham, with a table full of sides, and the kids sat at the cousins’ table with all the lefties on one side and we righties on the other. At the other home, we had a similar menu, but grandma’s ‘cranberry goop’ was a favorite with its tart cranberries and apples, balanced with the sweetness of dates, grapes, and swirls of whipped cream. Grandma’s Cranberry Goop continues to be a tradition on our Thanksgiving table.

Then there was the Thanksgiving Hubby and I and our young family were living on the ‘homestead’ and we still didn’t have an oven, so we decided to cook the turkey over an open fire. This was years before deep-frying or grilling turkeys became popular. Our attempt wasn’t as successful as we’d hoped. The fire was too hot and the enamel from the spatterware roaster baked onto the turkey making a nice glaze … but not one we could eat. We laughed about it (and still do) and made a feast of Stovetop Stuffing zapped in the microwave, green bean casserole warmed in a crockpot, and mashed potatoes and gravy cooked on our two-burner hotplate. And of course, Grandma’s Cranberry Goop.

While the smell of onions conjured memories of Thanksgivings past, our piano was being tuned providing white noise in the present. It’d been about ten years since a tuner was here and the piano needed some love, to the point even our young Grands knew something wasn’t right, questioning why some keys were ‘lazy’ or sticking. I told the tuner I’d bought the piano from the same piano store he worked for. “Then you bought the piano from my Granddad.” Kris’ great-grandfather started the company, and now Kris and his son are the fourth and fifth generations working there. For some reason, knowing that legacy added sentimental value to my instrument.

Both my grandmas played piano. One gave up playing as a sacrificial offering when both her sons were in Korea. She never took it back up, even when both returned safely home, and I never heard her play. The other grandma was especially good, maybe concert pianist good. But she gave up playing when she married grandpa. My first Hubby and I bought an old piano soon after we married, and inside was a note from all the previous owners, each one adding their history. Preparing to move to South Carolina, we had to sell it. We added our story and tucked the note back inside. But for two or three Christmases while we lived in Ohio, we had a Christmas party at our home with just our families and ‘concert pianist’ Grandma came and played carols while we sang. For not having played for decades, as soon as her fingers touched the keys, they found their home. Grandma’s face lit up while she played. The piano I have now was purchased with money from her estate and bought in her honor.

Growing up we had an old piano for a while. I took lessons for maybe a year, got stage fright playing ‘There’s a Hole in My Bucket’ during my first and only recital, and then we moved and the piano couldn’t move with us … which was doubly sad since we moved into a house that was 3 houses from my piano teacher’s. But the fondest memory of playing the piano is playing ‘Heart and Soul’ with my dad.

For an hour or two Friday morning I was surrounded by family spirits and memories, and filled with gratitude. Since then, I’ve practiced playing the piano for a while every day. I’ll never be as good as my grandmas, but I hope to be good enough to play Christmas carols with the Grands as they bang out rhythms on cymbals, sticks, triangles, shaker eggs, and sleigh bells. We’ll make a joyful noise of some kind! Maybe, one of them will eventually want to learn ‘Heart and Soul’.

Then early Sunday morning, around 2:30, our newest Grand finally decided to make her long-awaited appearance. (The reason this post is late. We’ve been a bit pre-occupied.)

As I sit here agonizing over how to close out this post, the threads of family legacies and gratitude intertwine. The world is going through some challenges at the moment, but these threads bind me with hope. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s all this peek through my window is about, checking on each other and offering hope.

May you have a hope-filled week. I’m off to practice the piano and no one wants to be peeking or listening through my window while that’s happening!