It was after the war had raged on for years that had felt like a lifetime; after the bombs had dropped and destroyed the town she had lived in for all her life. Grand towers reduced to rubble and wreckage in a matter of seconds,
The women in my family were born in kitchens. When my mother was born, my grandmother brought her home from the hospital the very next morning, set her baby in a basket on the counter and began cooking breakfast while my mother watched through blurry,
For days, I’ve been hopping around in this forest for food. Even though we have enough (uncle Jim brought his famous bushels of corn and Dad picked up a little cornucopia) I was looking for something, anything, to finalize my dinner. I always felt like
Ham or turkey — that is the question. Because while Squanto made it pretty easy for Thanksgiving in terms of which meat to eat, baby Jesus didn’t point to a pig while he was in the manger and speak out with the voice of God
The duality of holidays is something I’ll probably never get used to as a child of divorce. Long after the dust of the divorce has settled and the hostility has subsided, I still can’t help but note key differences in how my two families celebrate.