paper plate thanksgiving

Martha Stewart, had she been invited, most certainly would have sent her RSVP regrets. The dinner table was not set with fine china, and did not feature an awe-inspiring seasonal centerpiece. The menu was more Charlie Brown than Julia Child. The crystal goblets remained in hibernation as we celebrated another paper plate Thanksgiving.

For years I dreamed of pulling up my upholstered, high back chair to a table featuring hand lettered place-cards, fancy napkins and proper etiquette; but the phrase "please pass the perfectly polished heirloom silver service cradling the golden honey glazed baby carrots grown in my private vegetable garden," has yet to echo down the length of the spacious dining hall.

Holidays are for celebrating traditions. Unwittingly, I suppose I have infused our family time with the tradition of work. From a daunting newspaper route to the Chabin makeover, my family has foregone traditional fare in order to assist with one (or more) of my crazy projects. This year, in addition to Aunt Bernice's famous pies, the family rallied around the Jefferson Square renovation. We cleaned windows and floors, stripped wallpaper, moved furniture, filled the dumpster with construction debris, and swept the courtyard...and somewhere along the way, ate turkey.

With the passage of time, my interpretation of the "perfect Thanksgiving" has changed. This November, once again, in the midst of another "crazy Jed project," all of the essentials were there: food on the table, a roof (several roofs) overhead and family to love. For this, I give thanks.