Yesterday I went to a home goods store to buy a new tablecloth for Thanksgiving. The mission was doomed from the start.
If you know me, you might have guessed that I’m not much of a shopper. Groceries, I’m fine with, but anything else and I avoid it like the plague. I'll wear the same outfit for fifteen years if it means I don't have to go clothes shopping. Home décor shopping usually finds me cursing under my breath as I speed-walk around the megastore, unable to find a single thing that I’m looking for. I nearly always either leave empty-handed or I panic buy something and instantly regret my purchase.
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| Our cat, Mochi, enjoying the homemade decorations |
So why I thought I’d be able to find a nice, Thanksgiving-appropriate tablecloth in the correct size yesterday, I’ll never know. After all, I live in England. No one celebrates Thanksgiving here. Half of the store had already been taken over by Christmas decorations. As soon as I went through the door, I was assaulted by singing Santas and thousands of blinking Christmas lights, which only heightened my shopping anxiety. Furthermore, I’ve never actually bought a fancy tablecloth before. And by “fancy”, I just mean one made of cloth, not the wipeable PVC stuff we usually get. Tablecloths, cloth napkins, candle holders – all of those dinner-hosting accoutrements that I associate with real grown-ups (i.e. my parents’ generation) have never had a place in my household. We don’t even use paper napkins anymore. There is so much other stuff occupying my brain at all times that I usually couldn’t care less what the dining table looks like as long as there’s food on it and my kids are eating something.
But this year, it finally occurred to me that maybe I should make more of an effort to enhance the ambience of our dining room for the holiday. We’ve invited a number of English and Scottish people to our celebration this year, which ups the pressure to make it a “proper” American Thanksgiving. I realized that our guests will scrutinize everything – not in a negative way, but in a “Oh, is that an American tradition?” way. It’s the same for me when I spend Christmas in Scotland, observing the festivities with an anthropological curiosity. If I’m intending to share an aspect of my culture with my British friends and family, then perhaps I should do it right.
Our fancy Thanksgiving tablecloth
That begs the question, however: what is the right way to do Thanksgiving? What's the recipe for recreating the warm and cozy holiday of my childhood? As an immigrant, these questions take on a whole new layer of complexity. To illustrate the point: as Rory and I were going through the list of dishes to make for the meal, I had trouble deciding which dessert to include on the menu. Should I make a pumpkin pie? It’s traditional, and it’s amusing serving it to British people as they’re often horrified by sweet pumpkin dishes. But I never liked it that much growing up, so who would I be making it for? Or perhaps I should make an apple pie, the iconic American dessert. But that feels like I’d just be playing up the stereotype. Or do I make a blackberry pie -- a childhood favorite that's representative of my time in the Pacific Northwest? As trivial as these dessert questions are, these are dilemmas I never had to confront before I left the US.
How do I offer a piece of my culture without turning it into a museum exhibit? When none of the people have the shared understanding and memories of Thanksgiving that I do, how do I create meaning for myself and others out of little more than food and table decorations?
That’s where the tablecloth issue comes in. Earlier this week, I was trying to think of how to make our Thanksgiving more meaningful. And when I thought back to the Thanksgivings of my childhood, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t stuffing myself with food or hanging out with family. It was setting the table with my mother, beautifying it with carefully folded cloth napkins, meticulously placed cutlery, and the candle holders that stayed in the drawer the rest of the year. It was adorning the mantelpiece with evergreen garlands and smelling the piney scent wafting through the house. It was seeing the care and dedication with which my family members prepared incredible food in order to celebrate our unity and togetherness. Nothing was thrown together haphazardly; there was a joy in giving all of our love and attention to this one day, this one celebration of the beauty of family.
So when I looked at the old, stained PVC tablecloth on our table, it suddenly dawned on me that I’d better go shopping. Thanksgiving, for me, isn't just about food or family. It's about hospitality. I want my children to learn to appreciate family and friends and to not take them for granted. I want them to understand that when we show sincere hospitality to others and work hard to make them feel welcome and loved in our home, our effort stays with them for far longer than the one day we’re together. It’s not about having the best or newest stuff; it’s about creating warmth and beauty for all to enjoy. And I think my daughter, at least, is starting to get the message.
When I told her about my shopping failure, she instantly scooched next to me on the couch and looked online with me for a suitable tablecloth to order. Then she helped me decide on a table runner and suggested some decorations she could make for the dining room. I was pleasantly surprised at her sense of style and her desire to make our Thanksgiving a beautiful celebration. It seems she has her Grammie’s sensibility for home décor and a higher tolerance for shopping than I do.
Is there a right way to do Thanksgiving? Is there some magic recipe that makes it an authentic American celebration? If there is, I certainly haven’t found it. Every year that I’ve spent Thanksgiving away from the US, I’ve had a mini emotional crisis before the holiday comes around. Questioning my role in my family when I’m so far away, questioning the value of sharing this foreign holiday with my husband and kids, questioning my Americanness or lack thereof. But I always come back to the same idea: Thanksgiving is a reminder to be grateful for our loved ones and to show them, in both our deeds and our words, that we care.
My first homemade lattice pie!
What are the traditions that make Thanksgiving meaningful to you? I'd love to hear your ideas.
For everyone out there celebrating Thanksgiving this year, whether in the US or around the world, I wish you coziness, beauty, and the love of family and friends.
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