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the need to have a package of those little brown and serve rolls, baked at the last possible moment to a perfect golden brown, and then slathered with butter. That’ s Thanksgiving.
There were vegetables, of course: creamed corn off the cob and green beans canned from our garden, and mounds of whipped potatoes. Sometimes she would have baked squash or turnips with greens or whatever, but, honestly, I wasn’ t spending that much time amongst the vegetables.
Of course there was a sweet potato casserole made from canned sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top. Of course there was a little can-shaped blob of“ cranberry sauce”, which retained its cylinder shape. As far as I know, only Dad ate that stuff.
There were desserts, of course. It really isn’ t Thanksgiving dinner without pumpkin pie. Mother also made fantastic meringue pies – lemon meringue, coconut cream pie with a huge white and golden brown head of meringue. There was usually a persimmon pudding, which reminded dad of his childhood in Brown County.
After dinner, there were football games on TV, I suppose, but it didn’ t seem like anyone paid much attention. Again, it was more like background noise, the soundtrack. This is usually when we would get restless and decide to go out and actually play football instead of watching it on TV, which usually led to much yelling and crying, personal injury, or some combination of the two.
The women cleared the table and did the dishes, talking non-stop about cooking, and who in the family had had which gruesome surgery, and what Marcy on“ General Soap Opera” was going to do about that Tad. The men sat in the living room and talked about hunting, and people they used to know, and the economy. Everybody smoked back then.
We didn’ t attend church on Thanksgiving Day, but, without doubt, on the Sunday previous to the holiday, Sunday worship would have included seasonal hymns like“ We Gather Together” and“ Come, Ye Thankful People Come.” These, too are a part of my Thanksgiving soundtrack.
Come, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of harvest home: All is safely gathered in Ere the winter storms begin … … First the blade and then the ear, Then the full corn shall appear, Lord of harvest grant that we Wholesome grain and pure may be …
So, for this Thy bounty which we are about to once again receive, and for all the traditions and remembrances thereof, please make us truly grateful.
And please pass the potatoes. •
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County Detention Center; and a volunteer and instructor at the Anderson Center for the Arts.
“ I just love how art is a universal language,” she said.“ You can paint a picture and everybody in the world can explain what the picture means to them in their own words.” Watkins said she will never stop learning.“ I always tell the kids, you don’ t have to be born with talent, you have to develop it,” she said.“ And you keep working at it your whole life. You grow with your art.”
You can follow MK on Facebook at MK Watkins Artist or call her at( 812) 988-4923. Her studio is open year round by appointment. •