It’s holiday time again, and what matters is that we are together with friends and family, that the coffee, (or wine) flows endlessly and there’s always room for one more piece of pie. But over the years my experience between celebrating at my parents’ house versus my in-laws’ house has become such a stark contrast, that I actually said something to my husband about it after arriving back home from another year of two very different Thanksgiving gatherings.
For the sake of everyone’s feelings, I’m going to be intentionally vague about some things. And the point of writing about it at all? To refocus. To reflect. To avoid making these same mistakes with our family in the future–to keep the main thing the main thing- family.
Two Very Different Holiday Gatherings
At one house, we arrive and are greeted with full décor that starts at the street and flows up the walk. Seasonally appropriate pots sit next to a perfectly manicured lawn. Once in the entryway, we are surrounded by more seasonal décor, music, candles, and twinkling lights. While all of this is lovely, it feels untouchable as well. It is hard to know where to sit, how to help, or even which glasses we are supposed to use for each phase of the day’s events. The hostess is stressed, fluttering about, afraid to delegate as her guests stand helplessly watching. The experience has been designed to be perfect, but instead feels forced and too formal.
It’s a nice day, but I can’t wait to get home and relax.
The other house offers a different arrival. Summer’s long dead annuals sit in pots next to mismatched Christmas lights waiting to be put up. Entering the house into the cramped entry, tripping over shoes, we can hear this hostess clanging around in the kitchen as she tells us to put our dish-to-pass wherever we can find a spot. The piles of mail and clutter are a permanent fixture here, in a house full of everything saved, nothing wasted or thrown out. We can open the wine we brought, or grab a can of pop while we try to help in the kitchen. This hostess is overwhelmed, but we eventually all gather in the dining room for the meal, and she collapses at the table with her kids and grandkids. What happens here is special, comfortable.
It’s like time stops as we talk and laugh for hours, surrounded by old pictures that haven’t been dusted and candles we forgot to light.
I’ll cherish each of these memories, always, because they are filled with the people I love. But what stands out to me is the time spent trying to make things any more than what they are or need to be–loved ones around the table, sharing a meal, celebrating being together despite all of life’s challenges and everything the year has thrown at us. I want to remember what really matters, so that someday when I am able to host holiday gatherings like this, I can try to focus on the very simple, successful recipe of food and family.
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