Cranberries

I remember the time I learned about the magical combination of cranberries and turkey. I was 13 and my uncle (my father's youngest brother) and I spent Thanksgiving with my father's eldest brother and his family on their ranch in Oklahoma. It was a Thanksgiving of firsts. My first trip to the ranch, my first time roping cattle, and the first time I actually liked cranberries. I'd never cared much for them before: they were tart and I liked sweet. My aunt, however, made cranberry sauce that was both tart and sweet. Scooped over turkey and, well, one bite and I was hooked.

I came home and informed my mother that my taste for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner had undergone a transformation and I explained the recipe. For years afterward, she faithfully reproduced it and you might think the story ends right there. But it doesn't.

In 1997, my mother passed away and left me the recipe. In previous years, I'd tried to the best I could to mimic her creation, but there was always something missing. Now, of course, I get it right and that, along with pumpkin pie, are my contributions to the festivities.

While the cranberries are just as they should be, there are still other things that I miss. Both my parents are gone now, and the rest of my family is in Colorado, Oklahoma, and elsewhere. Dear friends are in Texas and California, and most of my medical school pals are scattered over the country. Many are nearby in New England but others as far away as Oregon.

So, Christmas is quiet this year, and my wife, the dog and cat and I are celebrating in an old house that seems as though it was built just for the Holidays. We exchanged gifts, made turkey with all the trimmings, watched favorite movies, and called our absent friends. Thanks to Mr. Bell and the wonders of email, they're only moments away. It's been a good day.

When you get round to reading this, I wonder if you might take a moment and leave a comment or two about how you spent the day, what's present, who's not, and what made you glad at heart.