Our little dead end street of 9th west was just a little happy sometimes dysfunctional family. When holidays came around we would celebrate together. On Halloween Mother would help us with our costumes and the kids would go trick or treating en-mass. Roaming over many blocks mostly in our ward boundaries. We soon learned what houses gave out the best treats and which houses would require us to do some kind of trick to get our treat. I would try to avoid those houses but sometimes I would forget and if required my standard trick was to sing “Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam” or “Give Said The Little Stream”. Then we would come home and dump it all out and separate out the “good” stuff from the old apples and crumbly cookies. We didn’t worry about tainted treats. Many houses gave out home made treats and most of the time these were some of the best.
Once Halloween was over then we looked forward to Thanksgiving. The Cox families would plan Thanksgiving dinner together. Because my Dad was the Bishop we would get some of the banquet tables and some folding chairs from the church and set them up in Aunt Wanda’s living room. The food would be assigned and on Thanksgiving day we would gather at Uncle Reid and Aunt Wanda’s. Sometimes Uncle Morris’ Father and Mother would join us and sometimes Aunt Wanda’s relatives would come. Mother made the best bread,( actually Mother made the best of everything) Aunt Wanda’s pies always had burned crusts and Aunt Mary made really good candied yams, Aunt Mima made good mince meat pies, (the only time I liked mince meat). The kid’s were put to work making place marks and turkeys out of gum drops, marshmallows, and tooth picks. Then we would argue about where everyone would sit. It was always something to look forward to be allowed to sit at the grownups table. It is interesting to realize how your tastes change as you grow older. I remember not liking the taste of real butter, which was a treat for some. Mother always encouraged us to try everything. I guess there were some things I would refuse to eat but not much.
When I was about nine, Dad started to build a house across the street from where we lived. It took him about two years to finish. He and Uncle Reid did most of the carpentry work and the electrical wiring. One Thanksgiving after the walls were up and the roof on, we set up the tables in our new house. I remember that as a very different dinner. The weather was warm that year but it was not as comfortable as Aunt Wanda’s. But we were having dinner at our house for once. Once or twice our family journeyed to Pocatello to have Thanksgiving with Mothers family. As I look back on those years I remember them with fondness. I also think there were times when my Mother must have felt like an outsider. She spent her whole life surrounded by Cox relatives. She wrote letters to her Mother and she had a circle of friends from Pocatello that she kept in touch with for the rest of her life. But for the most part she was pretty isolated from her family and friends.
Your memories of Thanksgiving are fun to think about. My least favorite part of those dinners was the jello salad we always had. I think aunt Mary or Aunt Wanda made the jellos and ick! They were filled with crunchy vegetables and looked really pretty with a dollop of something on the tope that I was always sure was whipped cream. Huh! It was mayo and I didn’t think they tasted good at all. But as you said, Mom encouraged us to try everything and the jello wasn’t optional because each of us found a serving beside our place card whether we liked it or not! My favorite part of thanksgiving was that the moms did the dishes and sent all of us kids to the movies and then in the evening we would gather together again and feast on the left overs. Thanksgiving was by far my favorite holiday of the year. After we moved into our new home all of the dinners were held at our house, at least for the few years I still lived at home because we had a large living room and dining room combination which made it easier to fit everyone in. The last time I had Thanksgiving in Cedar City was at our house and it was the year I got married, 1964. Wow that was a long time ago.
I gave a talk in church this Sunday and read Grandpa’s Thankgiving poem. I got a little choked up reading it, I can always hear his clear steady voice in my head when I read it. I’m pretty sure most of the congregation enjoyed it, I saw a few wet eyes. The talk was about geneology; I found a talk by Elder Nuenshwander that was about eternal keepsakes. I brought the wooden shoes from Holland, when I held them up I explained that my Grandmother’s ornately carved shoes were like her, stylish, chic and small; Grandpa’s shoes were like him, traditional, with the windmill decorating the toes.
I’m so lucky to have had such a good example in my grandparents. Whenever I think of them, I remember the legacy of love they left for us, the love of their family and their unending love for each other. I will always remember their love for our church and the gospel. Every Thanksgiving I like to read Grandpa’s poem and remember the sound of his voice.