We hit the floor running, there was no time to waste. Everyone was assigned a job. "There will be no slacking today," our mother announced. It was Thanksgiving 1963.

We put on our best, and an apron over top, hoping to make it without a stain.

Our menu was a humble one; the appetizers brought from the pantry: Vienna sausages, olives, and canned brown bread.

On fancy days, like this day, we spread the brown bread with cream cheese. A pre-feast, it was!

Ritz crackers were arrayed with assorted hard cheeses, and my mother's anchovies. (Too fishy for me! An acquired taste, I was told.)

I revelled in the watermelon pickles, beets, soured cabbage, and chilled coleslaw. I scooped each one into a sectioned bowl that spun around. How ingenious, I thought.

The yeast rolls were covered with linen, until risen and round. When declared just right, they were popped into the oven to bake. The Parker House rolls were rivaled only by my mother's homemade cornbread.

The star was the turkey and served upon an oval platter, sprigs of rosemary and basil leaves sticking out.

The Sunbeam mixer hummed as it stirred, producing a cloud of heavenly white.

The biggest bowl of whipped potatoes I had ever seen was set on the sideboard; my brothers now howling like wolves. I saw them sampling, and fussed. "Get your paws out of the feast!"

Fresh green beans were cooked with some ham, (a hambone we'd set aside for the day.)

The cranberries came out of the can in a jiggly blob. Kerplunk! Red gunk. I still ate it, and smiled with red teeth.

Then, the pies...oh... the pies, pumpkin, pecan, and mincemeat, all topped with whipped cream. (The mixer came out one last time.)

We could hardly move from the table to the couch, but we did; and slept end-to-end while the TV screen flipped. The oldest among us moaned, then he said, "to the mess we go... come on!"

Finally we rose and headed back to the kitchen, where we washed every dish--every pan. Oh man! Our mom passed out from the sight.

But, we sure loved the day and the wonderful feast, and we loved the hands that made it all. Even the red gunk of Thanksgiving 1963.

{From my family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving everyone!}