Home for Thanksgiving

The traditional Thanksgiving meal of sweet dressing, turkey, ham, mashed and sweet potatoes, pecan and pumpkin pie filled our plates. The love of family surrounded us in Mom’s Kansas home. Sweet baby Annabelle got handed around. The noise level of the great nieces and nephews rose and fell, depending if they were downstairs or up. The nieces and nephews sang. It was the all- American Thanksgiving of my childhood. I took it for granted back then, never dreaming I would take “the road less traveled.”

We flew home to NYC on Monday. The crowded Q70 bus took us to within blocks of our building. Christmas trees sparkled and lights twinkled in the lobby that smelled of cinnamon. It felt so comfortable – like home.

Laurence brought a plate of food from the Thanksgiving potluck at the clinic: noodles, rice, dumplings, … He said the Haitian nurse brought herring. No turkey or dressing or sweet potatoes. This is not the tradition of our Elmhurst home.

We like to spend Thanksgiving with the Akinyombo and Daramola families in Poughkeepsie. It’s become our tradition and a place we feel at home. Today, the food was American traditional, the conversation lively in Papa Akinyombo’s small apartment where we sat tightly together in the living room. After a while the songbooks came out and Josiah led one song after another. Granddaughter Vera and her husband graced us with their presence. Brother Dayo dropped us off at the train station, and the Metro North carried us to Grand Central. (A brief delay at 125th while the police escorted a man off.)

My people are in Kansas. My people are here. God is good. All the time and everywhere.

Berniece