by Nick Taylor

We’re having Thanksgiving for two this year. Far to the west in Colorado, our chef nephew Doug and his family – wife Jenny and two lovely, lively and kitchen-oriented children Jeffrey and Juliann – are having Thanksgiving for four. And farther west, in the mountains, Barbara’s sister Hope and our brother-in-law Ed, are like us having Thanksgiving for two. Or three, counting Sammy their miniature Schnauzer.

Normally all nine of us would be together at Hope and Ed’s house. We’d spend some time by the fire in the living room, peddling away in their workout room, catching up on the many Thanksgiving weekend football games, looking out at the mountains to catch a glimpse of snow, or the mule deer running up from the valley. We’d walk Sammy along the steep roads around the house, keeping a firm grip on his leash in case he bolts after one of the deer that share the neighborhood. But the vast majority of the time we’d gather together in the kitchen.

It’s a long room. There’s a long counter island with stools on one side and work space on the other. A door opens to a pantry at one end, a wall counter at the other end holds drawers, a sink and two dishwashers. Ed’s the central figure in this tableau. He’s the cook, and Barbara and I await orders to cut or slice or trim. Doug has a wider repertoire, and since the pandemic shut us all in he’s been perfecting his baking. We’d be fatter feasting on his baked goods if the pandemic hadn’t kept us home this year.

Hope keeps things neat and Jenny keeps company and reads. Jeffrey, if past years are a clue, sits at the kitchen table in one corner engrossed in Yugioh with a cast of difficult-to-comprehend characters and rules or Pokemon. Juliann, when she is not chopping or helping with cooking, drapes a towel over one arm and acts the part of a server taking orders. We all hang out together.

Thanksgiving, of course, is premised around food, but food brings people together day in and day out, year after year. We need sustenance, and there’s pleasure in good food, but on days like Thanksgiving it’s the company that brings us joy. That’s one reason why 2020 has been such a hard year. It’s why, despite over 260,000 deaths, millions of COVID-fatigued Americans got on planes this weekend to visit relatives despite Centers for Disease Control warnings that family gatherings could spread the deadly virus.

Barbara and I haven’t been to a restaurant since March. We haven’t sat down to eat with anybody but each other. We’re lucky to be able to enjoy this after all this time. We’d also like to see other people whom we love, and other people who bring new information and perspectives to the table. But we don’t want this enough to ignore the possibility that it would be dangerous to them, or us.

So we offer our gratitude this Thanksgiving for having come this far. We’ve learned that we can, after all, live with changes to our lives that we couldn’t have imagined. We’ve learned, as our parents told us, that patience is a virtue. We’ve learned that if we’re patient for a few more months vaccines may let us resume lives we once thought of as normal.

Finally, we’ve learned that the disruptions to our lives are ripples on a pond compared with many others. Look at those who’ve died, and their families. Look at the nurses and doctors who have treated the victims. Look at the people who deliver the packages we don’t shop for in person anymore. Look at the people who bring us the takeout food we order. Look at the shopkeepers and store clerks who keep goods and groceries on the shelves. Look at the cops and firefighters and emergency workers who keep a lid on the chaos. We have so, so very much to be thankful for, and this season we’re reminded as never before that we should never think otherwise.