Twenty-one years ago we moved to the Monadnock region and I feared the loss of restaurants. The sheer number of great eating establishments was something I celebrated as a genius of urban metropolitan areas. I figured our decision to go “country” proclaimed their end. Come to discover that the genius of big cities has migrated to Monadnock in a different form, limited choices.
Surprisingly, restaurants in lesser quantity bring me great joy. The genius and I have matured, but where to eat for Thanksgiving? Go out or to stay home? I offered dining suggestions to my domestic power and awaited a decision.
Her choice was not surprising. Certainly not as surprising as the presidential election outcome. One of the benefits of having fewer choices of restaurants is the increased intimacy. We know many of the owners and our food expectations are rarely disappointed. If and when they are, a listening ear receives us. It’s like having an in-home chef.
The moments of October’s sugars are past. It is time to eat a mostly healthy multi-course meal and be in communion. Whether that communion is divine, human or some of each, Thanksgiving is now secularly, interfaith.
This Thanksgiving we received an invite to dine with good friends. Friends we joined last year on this day and always enjoy. My partner and I talked it over and decided that the joys of our 40th year of marriage celebration in October are still strongly reflecting in the rearview mirror. We will dine with one another. The plan is to go out to an intimate restaurant whose ambiance will strengthen meaningful conversation, assure limited seconds and no leftovers.
Thanksgivings most marvelous are ones that give purpose. A purpose that plays to one another’s strengths. Uncle Dan telling great stories, Aunt Ruth knowing how to make turkey gravy, Aunt Helen knitting Christmas sweaters, and a natural matriarch or patriarch carving a turkey that the chef has slow cooked and basted.
It has taken me a while to find purpose at large gatherings. Thanksgivings are no exception. I easily envision the purpose of others around me, but as I have no strong interest in knitting or cooking, what am I to do? I can tell a good story, but in reality I would prefer to write them, or listen to another’s.
At gatherings of more than two or three I have evolved into a listener. It didn’t seem enough at first. I felt out of place with those who take on every task.
My parents said I lacked direction, I took this to mean purpose. I thought the others the good guys and I an odd guy out, a one off.
I didn’t feel shame, but inadequate. What does one do in a world of doers? It can still creep me out. A couple of years ago, during a Thanksgiving gathering on the West Coast, I felt surrounded by doers and purposeful intenders, I lost a sense of self and fled to Starbucks. I don’t know what surprised me more – that I was missed or misunderstood. In any case, I was berated.
It all goes back to purpose. We want purpose. Thanksgiving is a day to enjoy purpose and bliss. I have come to accept that I like it best observing. At future large gatherings, my plan is to just do it and allow myself to feel the benefits of listening while taking in the most comforting of tastes and smells.
All in all, not a bad reason to be just the two of us this year. The crowds will have to wait.
Bob Ritchie is a regular contributor to the Monadnock Ledger-Transcript.