Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, never my favorite holiday, for a number of reasons. Because of that, I really do not have a lot of memories, happy or otherwise, associated with the holiday, but I do remember one particular Thanksgiving in the late 1960's. The big family Thanksgiving dinner for grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins was to be at our house that year.
My mother planned for two weeks, prepped for one, and cooked for three days. She produced a traditional Thanksgiving feast that was a monument to her skills as cook and hostess. There were many sincere exclamations: "Oh, Betty! The [turkey/dressing/mashed potatoes/gravy/green bean casserole/dinner rolls/cranberry sauce] is [delicious/fabulous/spectacular]!" But it was Aunt Blanche who stopped the show when she was heard to say, almost as if to herself, "Man, these olives are good."
Aunt Blanche loves green olives, and it was clear that she was thankful my mother had gone to the trouble of opening a jar and putting some on the relish tray.
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