A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 4 {For Mother and Father}

November 2006

Seven years ago that day, Mother and Father were married. Mother wore a white dress with a gold sash; Father wore a black suit and a champagne tie. Friends played a song of thanksgiving on piano and strings; guests ate almond cake and truffles, walnut pastries, and fruit tart to celebrate. And so began a walk down a road that was theirs, and theirs alone. Five years along the way, Pigeon joined them on their journey.

November 2011

Mother, who was far from perfect, would sometimes forget that Father, though not perfect himself, was made perfectly for her, and Pigeon for them. 

But then some trivial moment would remind her, and her heart would close to burst with thanks. She did not earn this grace.

A Month of Thanksgiving : Day 3 {For Ya-Ya}

Ya-Ya with Pigeon (November 2012)

Ya-ya with Pigeon's Father (the Previous Century)

Pigeon was blessed with a host of lively Grands and Greats. He christened Father's mother "Ya-Ya" before he learned to make the "grrr" sound for "Grandma". And so shall she ever be known.

Ya-Ya is loved by children and puppies alike, which means she must be intrinsically kind (she is), and give especially good treats (she does).

Happy Birthday, Ya-Ya! Today we are thankful for you.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 2 {For Leafing}

October isn't the most horrible time to be in the desert, but it might be the worst time not to be in New England. Mother's best memories of childhood were filed away by seasons. In her growing-up corner of New England, each season was felt in its fullest fury and celebrated for its brightest beauty; October sparkled especially. She was sad that, come October, Pigeon wouldn't expect the sweet smell of frost and sugar maples, or anticipate the pleasure of crunching through leaves a foot deep.

And so she was especially thankful that Thanksgiving month, that he (and she) had been gifted such a brilliant dose of New England autumn that year. The New England Grands had brought them out just in time for a proper leafing. The crunch underfoot, the sugar in the air, the frost-bejeweled pumpkin on the sunny stoop; it was all the same. Pleasant enough for Mother to enjoy on her own, but newly wondrous when enjoyed through Pigeon's eyes.

A Month of Thanksgiving: Day 1 {For the Evening Before}

October ended with Pigeon's first tricks-or-treats. Until now, he'd been too little to gather his own bucket of sweets, to walk door to door and knock or ring bells. This year, Father was working; Mother helped Pigeon carve his pumpkin. Its glowing grin filled their little just-for-now home with light and the scent of singed pumpkin. The smell of eight-years-old-in-October, thought Mother, who liked feeling so suddenly young again, instead of so suddenly old. Surprises sent from the Grands and Greats set up a happy mood. A quick, comfy costume came together just in time for them to meet up with cousins wearing cute, cuddly costumes of their own. Together they walked street upon street, accepting a treat or two in exchange for the smiles they put on the faces that answered the doors.

Children are a blessing, Mother thought the next morning.  It was the first day of Thanksgiving Month, and there was much for which to give thanks: her youth recaptured for a few hours in the scent of a jack-o-lantern and candy wrappers; the laughter on street corners following the flashes of fairy wings and capes; and family in all corners of the country, some close enough to spend an evening with.

Pigeon Remembers

Running down the hill to find the ducks

One day they left the house with the pond out back and never went home again. There were days of boxes piled high, crowding the corners; strangers came to take away the big things, leaving a wad of cash in Mother's hand and an empty space on the wall, the floor.

So we can buy some new things when we get where we're going, she said, tucking the bills away.

But if they'd gotten there, Pigeon wasn't sure. So far, they hadn't bought much, but they did have a few walls around them and lots of space to run in circles where a table and chairs should be. There was a landing to share with the neighbors. Down the stairs and through a concrete maze lined with aloe and cacti, past a lemon (a lime? an orange?) tree, was a pool. Father would take him to swim there at night; the days were too hot to play out in the sun. Here the world was pink, and lime-green, with purple rock, and orange and brown; fringes of yellow and splashes of violet here and there, bursts of magenta along the ridges of pancake-shaped prickly pear paddles. Black-bronze mountains rose high on the horizon. There were beautiful things in the desert, but they were not his beautiful, small things.

Desert vista

Pigeon missed the ducks. He mentioned them daily to Mother in gasping breathes: Ducks! Ducks! Bread! Bread! He'd pound his fist to his chin, to remind her how they would feed them stale crumbs in the spring at the edge of the pond. Shoo! Shoo! Go! he'd shout, never forgetting how Mother would run at them, hollering, to scare them off the patio when they grew too familiar. Pigeon remembered all of these little things from his days. He missed them.

Old friends

Mother felt things about this that she couldn't say. She let him remember, remembering with him. These were the things she'd meant to write down in this space. Yes, at our old house... She'd smile and nod. Maybe, at our new house, she'd say, trying to sound convincing. It was, after all, possible. Anything's possible. Never say never; don't grow too familiar. Spread your wings over your ducklings and shepherd them with you. Make a home there, and all will be well.

{this moment} : : egging

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Easter weekend!

Pigeon's Snowy Spring

A week into spring, and Pigeon's world was washed in white. Last year at that time, he and mother had sat outside in summer outfits and sunshades, wiggling bare toes in early green grass. We'll make up for this next year, Mother had thought. It seemed she was right. The flakes had come in earnest Sunday evening, falling heavy through the night. It was still snowing Monday morning. They stayed indoors and out of the dull, gray day.

 

On Tuesday the sun was shining. Mother bundled Pigeon into puffy snow pants and fleece-lined boots. She put socks on his hands and an extra sweatshirt under his winter coat. Outside they squinted against the strong sun. It burned their cheeks. Mother realized they both wore too many clothes; soon everything but their fingertips was hot. Mother worked hard, rolling the heavy, melting snow into three large balls. Pigeon recognized the figure that emerged as she piled them one on top of the other and scraped off any dirt and pebbles collected along the way. He'd read books about men made of snow.

They gave him a carrot nose and pebble eyes and buttons. Pigeon's toy hammer made an excellent pipe. They found a big floppy hat and an old scarf to tie under his chin. Mother snapped two budding branches off a tree for his arms. Then they sprinkled nuts and dried fruit onto his hat and pressed them into his lap. They hoped birds would come to dine there. They also hoped the man wouldn't stay long. It was spring, after all, and the ducks were nesting.

Pigeon's Celebrations: Four Friendly Valentines

Pigeon had guests for Valentine's Day. Mother was helping a friend by having her four daughters in for the day. With so many youngsters about, Mother had an excuse to throw a party. When Pigeon awoke that morning, his breakfast table was spread with a heart-speckled cloth and scattered with candies. A pink heart banner hung over his breakfast chair, and someone had left a package for him to open on his tray. Inside were two new books from Mother and Father. Pigeon knew it would be a special day.

Having the girls over in itself was special. So many people to play with! He shared his toys and his mother well. Together they made paper valentines. Mother helped Pigeon put glue on little paper hearts, which he pressed onto a red card for Father, along with stickers he picked out himself. Everyone's cards went into plastic sleeves. They dropped foil-wrapped chocolate hearts into each one to take the place of kisses, tied them up, and set them aside to hand out later.

After lunch, Mother brought out a tin full of heart-shaped cookies. They each got a pile to decorate with tubes of icing, sprinkles, candy hearts, and chocolate bits. The girls filled a whole box top with their work. Pigeon snitched chocolate bits when Mother wasn't looking. 

After naps, they ordered pizza and the older girls got to pick out a movie to watch while they waited for their parents to come get them. Pigeon liked having so many kids around his table. Maybe one day there would be other children there--the kinds, he hoped, who didn't have to leave at the end of the day; they'd already be home.

Pigeon's Celebrations: Pigeon's Christmas Gift

That year Christmas was a mix of joy and sadness. A dear uncle of Father's had passed away. Mother was in the middle of baking and cleaning the house for parents and great-grandparents to come and stay for the holiday when Father called with the news. A change of plans, bags packed quickly; Pigeon and his parents piled into the car with Grandma and Grandpa for the long ride to a place where they could say goodbye and visit with grief.

Mother was glad that for Pigeon, the trip was just another party. He met aunt and uncles and cousins he'd never met before. All were glad to know him. Someone's little girl chased him down and gave him his first kiss. There was food, and people talking and laughing around tables. If he caught the sadness in the smiles, he didn't let on. He went about his play, doling out smiles of his own and cheering heavier hearts. Such was the nature of Pigeon's gifts--given easily, in passing, but not easily forgotten.

Pigeon's Celebrations: A Happy Halloween

Halloween came not long after Pigeon's birthday. This year, Pigeon could walk on his own to the door to greet the trick-or-treaters. Mother brought out a costume his Grandma had bought him a year before. He'll never keep it on, she thought, slipping it over his head. But she was wrong. Pigeon liked being a pirate, after all.

The doorbell rang and rang and the children kept coming. Pigeon smiled at each one, wondering at their dress. Mother and Father took him outside to watch the parade of ghosts and butterflies, princesses and cowboys. He tried to run after them, so Father took him for  a walk to join the fun. They came back with pink cheeks, noses running from the cold.

They'd carved pumpkins the night before. Pigeon had run his soft, warm fingers over the smooth, cool skin of a pumpkin that was almost as big as he was. He remembered these giant orange globes from his picture books. Now he understood how much fun they could be. Father got fancy with his pumpkin, fashioning a ghost opening a door. Mother carved a classic pumpkin moonshine. The smell of fresh-cut pumpkin flesh roasting over a candle reminded her of being small in her parents' house, cutting gap-toothed smiles into pumpkin faces with her own father and siblings, their dining table covered in newspaper. Sometimes her mother roasted the seeds and they'd eat them, salted and delicious, in the glow of the jack-o-lanterns.

For Mother, Halloween had never been about fright and mayhem. It was a celebration of autumn's best: crisp leaves crunching underfoot; breathing in cool air while the sun is still strong enough to warm your shoulders; hot spiced cider and the taste of pumpkin and clove; pie-baking season; kids traipsing through neighborhood, laughing, as if the world were a truly safe and happy place. She hoped Pigeon would see things this way. She hoped she could give him that kind of a world, even for just a few years.