Expectations

The Thanksgiving tradition we could do without

Nov 21, 2020

“To wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect” ― Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

In this Issue:

Thanksgiving is hard: thank you for listening
Cookbooks: Keep ‘em coming!
A poem, some good reads, and more for the week ahead
Stumble into a Zen moment lately? Share it with us

Wishin’ and Hopin’

Sometimes when I sit down to write to you I know exactly what I want to say or try to say, anyway. Then there are times like now, when it is a little less than a week before Thanksgiving, and the words are having trouble getting past the lump in my throat.

I am filled with a sense of longing that I thought I tamed years ago.

I don’t long for turkey or stuffing or even the cranberry sauce that I have loved ever since my grandfather promoted me years ago from the children’s table to a seat on his left where he made sure we had our own bowl to share. I don’t long for the ignorance I’ve had about the true origins and evolution of Thanksgiving, that uniquely American holiday. I certainly don’t long for those holidays after my parents divorced and the stomach-roiling choices about where to eat or the days after my own divorce when I had to put my son on a plane to visit his dad for the long weekend.

I’m just feeling an inarticulate longing; the heart wants what it wants even though my heart, like the rest of me, knows that what I’m missing isn’t what I think it is. I’m succumbing, I suspect, to that syndrome known as Covid fatigue.

Thanksgiving, like other holidays, brings into sharp relief how far I am from so many people I love. A holiday is an annual reminder of how time is passing. This year the reminder pierces deeper; like many of you, I don’t know when I will be able to visit my son, my parents, my siblings, or close friends who live thousands of miles away. There have already been near misses -- my son who is a Type 1 diabetic had Covid. Luckily, he got through it although it hurt to know he was all alone with it. We have another loved one who is going through a serious health crisis and must stay as safe as she can. It’s been years since I’ve lived within a hundred miles of the people I call family and loved ones. I thought I was used to managing distance as well as my expectations but this year the pandemic colors everything a few shades darker.

I want contact. I want to just sit and be quiet and press up against the folks that live so far away and now seem even farther away. Like these puppies (click here or on the photo to see the video which I guarantee will make your blood pressure drop and your heart just a little happier):

Yes, contact is messy, uncomfortable, and unpredictable but there is a warmth there that I long for even if it only makes me miss everyone more when it is all over. I also miss the stories, the old ones and the ones that are formed fresh with each cooking disaster, unexpected arrival, or, in one case, the happy surprise of coming upon a naked man running after a truck in the falling snow: “Old Yeller and The Repo Man.”

Okay, deep breath.

In the best of years, many people suffer on Thanksgiving and every other holiday. Holidays can be fraught even when Covid is not a factor. In other words, I know that there are those facing far worse scenarios than I am right now. I ache for them because I can look forward to a day with my husband and a couple of very dear friends whose bubble we share. We’ll all be having a very different day than the one we thought we’d be having when we started out the year but it will be fine, probably a whole lot better than fine. And when you think about it, not having the Thanksgiving you were expecting kind of a tradition in itself. Why should this year be any different?

My best self reminds me that this holiday is another opportunity to practice saying yes to what is and not mourning what isn’t. The rest of me is willing to try.

So I’m starting with this: I do long for my people, I do long for contact. I know, though, that if I let longing for all that I’m missing dominate me, I will miss the beauty of whatever is going to unfold. I might miss the chance to say something that would help someone else feel better. I might miss a good laugh over Zoom with some of those I’d rather be hugging. Whatever happens, I don’t want to miss any of it.

Thank you for listening. I wish you health and peace this Thanksgiving. Let us know where you’ll be, how you are feeling, and what or who you’ll be thinking about. What’s on the menu? And last but not least, what are you grateful for these days?

Cookbooks: More Please!

Last week I asked for your help with an upcoming issue of Spark: the Cookbook Issue now slated for December 10. I have LOVED what’s been coming in and so will you. We have room for plenty more so read below and add your cookbooks and your stories to our collection.

Seems to me that every book on our shelves has a story behind it and no book has more backstory than the cookbook(s) we dip into on a regular basis. You know, the one(s) with the battered cover, or the index box full of scrawled-on cards, or binders stuffed with pages torn from magazines. Or maybe it’s the one your mother or grandmother gave you with scribbled notes in the margins. It could be a brand new one with pictures of dishes that are more fun to look at than make. Whatever your go-to source for cooking anything is, I’m asking you to share a photo of it along with a few lines about why this is the one you are sharing, what you like/love/hate about it, how your relationship with that book has changed over time (or even if you never really started the relationship). You can take photos of any part of the book - the cover, a particular page, a single recipe. Send them to me at elizabethmarro@substack.com. Thank you in advance!

A Poem

I loved this poem by poem by Aimee Nezhukumatathil, published in Literary Hub, November 22, 2018.

Thanksgiving

The only year I don’t remember the turkey
was the year I first dined with the man

I would marry. Blessed be the bowl
of sweet potatoes, mallow melted

in a pool of swirly cream. Blessed be no
seating assignments so I could sit

next to him. Around the table: a physicist,
an engineer, a philosopher, another poet,

a harpist. There were others too, but
I don’t remember what weepy thanks

was offered, what linens, and whether
the china was rimmed with a neat print

of ivy or gold. But I’ve committed the soap
and clean blade of his neck to memory.

I know the folds of his oxford, a bit
wrinkled from a long drive. During dinner,

the physicist said A cricket won’t burn
if it is thrown into a fire. Everyone laughed.

Some wanted to find a cricket to see
if it was really true. But this man—the man

I married—he grew quiet. Concerned. He’s the kind
of guy who would’ve fished the cricket out of the flame.

What do ice sculptures, snakes, and San Marino have in common?

I’ve been meaning to share this fun little exchange with Jimmy of Jimmy Doom’s Roulette Weal. He writes a short story every day of 100 or 200 words using three-word prompts submitted by his audience and others. I offered him these: ice sculpture, python, and San Marino, Italy. He came up with the 100-word story, “Melted.” Here it is. If you would like to check out more of his work head over to Jimmy Doom’s Roulette Weal on Substack.

Melted

After four years in South Africa documenting the behavior of pythons, Alexandra took a small chunk of her research grant, treating herself to a weekend in San Marino.

She relaxed in the hotel bar, which was sponsoring an ice sculpture contest. Some of Italy’s finest chefs were contestants.

One in particular caught her eye as he unpacked his hand tools, examining his ice blocks.

Then he dropped a power box on the floor, plugged in a chainsaw and briefly revved it.

Alexandra flashed back to the decimation of the rain forests, finished her drink, and walked quietly to her room.

Thanksgiving: A Look Under the Holiday Table

Pilgrims. Indians. A harvest-laden table. These were the main elements of the stories we were told in grade school as we outline our hands and drew turkeys on construction paper. Now we are grown up and here are two short reads and one book that explore the story beneath the holiday many of us celebrate without fully understanding.

Short reads: “The Pilgrim Story is Mostly Stuffing” and “A Better Way to Celebrate The Holiday”

Book: Thanksgiving: The Biography of an American Holiday by James Baker

A Marro Family Thanksgiving Tradition

Watching this movie is a tradition in my husband’s family. They introduced it to me and after several years, I’ve got to say, I’ve started to look forward to it although I will miss the cackles of laughter and the way my stepdaughter and her husband spit out the lines before Steve Martin and John Candy open their mouths. Next year, you guys!

Upcoming

Next week’s newsletter will be very short and, hopefully, sweet. Soon after, we’ll dive into a couple of projects that I’ve been thinking about for a while. In addition to the usual ramblings and book suggestions, I’ll be asking you about what you would like to see more of or less of in future editions of Spark. I’ve also got some interviews in the works that I’m excited about and want to share with you soon. But you don’t have to wait for me to ask - if there are things you’d like us to be talking about here, let me know!

Okay, that’s it for this week. Let me know how you are, and what you are reading over the holiday. And don’t forget - all books mentioned here are available through the Spark Community Recommendations page at bookshop.org where every sale benefits local bookstores and helps us raise money for literacy programs.

Gratefully, thankfully yours,

Betsy

P.S. And now, your moment of Zen…sometimes it pays to look up. Fall lingers long here in San Diego.

Calling for Your Contribution to “Moment of Zen”

What is YOUR moment of Zen? Send me your photos, a video, a drawing, a song, a poem, or anything with a visual that moved you, thrilled you, calmed you. Or just cracked you up. This feature is wide open for your own personal interpretation.

Come on, go through your photos, your memories or just keep your eyes and ears to the ground and then share. Send your photos/links, etc. to me by replying to this email or simply by sending to: elizabethmarro@substack.com. The main guidelines are probably already obvious: don’t hurt anyone -- don’t send anything that violates the privacy of someone you love or even someone you hate, don’t send anything divisive, or aimed at disparaging others. Our Zen moments are to help us connect, to bond, to learn, to wonder, to share -- to escape the world for a little bit and return refreshed.

I can’t wait to see what you send!