SOUTH PORTLAND – It’s 10 o’clock on Thanksgiving night, and I’ve just finished puttering around in the kitchen. The soup is simmering away, particularly savory this year as my son cooked the turkey with hickory chips on our barbecue grill. I have made platters of leftovers for our out-of-town guests, full of turkey, mashed potato, gravy and cranberry sauce with sides of desserts packed separately. I have emptied the dishwasher for what seems like the fourth time today and put away the very nice china and crystal that we might not use for another year.

At the end of our meal this year we actually reviewed the menu, as I tend to want to try something just a little bit different each November.

The consensus was to eliminate the turnips and instead add a green bean casserole, “if it can be made from scratch, including frying the onion rings.” The stuffing had too much celery and the apple pieces were too large. The make-ahead gravy with shiitake mushrooms was just fine, but maybe next year we need more of it. And the pecan chocolate tart was a keeper.

A few days ago, the local paper had an article about the benefits of going out to a restaurant for this major holiday feast. I must admit I thought about it for quite a while. But then I thought about what I would miss.

This year, as I polished my mother’s silver place settings, my 3-year-old grandson took all the spoons and lined them up on my kitchen floor in a “silver spoon parade” and then asked me to take his picture beside it.

It made me wonder why the ladies of that generation always had so many more teaspoons than forks and knives. There were like 22 spoons, for heaven’s sake. Did they really have that many people in for tea?

And then I would miss the fact that my nephew, who was in charge of the mashed potatoes, was tending to his delightful 6-month-old son when the potatoes totally boiled over and made a bit of a mess on the stove.

And that my daughter and daughter-in-law, who were in charge of desserts, forgot to put the maple sugar and bourbon in the pumpkin pie.

And I’d miss the comforting feeling as I wander the house this night, placing the silverware and the serving dishes in their respective homes.

Tomorrow morning, everyone leaves and I will walk around making sure that the babies have their sippy cups and the adults have their respective iPad and iPhone chargers. My husband and I will wave goodbye and smile. And we won’t even think about making reservations at that fancy restaurant for next year. How could we? Think of all the fun we would miss.

Cheryl Stitham White is a resident of South Portland. 

 

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