Memory Muscle
“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”
Psalm 34:8 (NIV)
Halloween is over and most retailers are already fully decorated and stocked for Christmas. In many ways it’s almost as if we skip Thanksgiving, but it is truly my favorite holiday. There’s no emphasis on presents, but the focus shifts to three of my favorite topics: family, food, and faith.
As James Bruce got older, I would always ask him one question at Thanksgiving: “What are you thankful for Brucie?” His answer was never changed. “My Mama, my Dad, and my family. Does that make you happy Mama?” he responded. Indeed, it always did!
If I said: “It just wouldn’t be thanksgiving if I didn’t have _______.” How would you fill in the blank?
Some of you might answer turkey & dressing or HoneyBaked ham. Sweet potatoes, squash casserole, or pumpkin pie might also make your list. But for our family, it just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without “Mimi punch,” an icy strawberry concoction that is a holiday tradition across at least five generations in the Evans family. “Mimi” punch represents family celebrations.
I grew up as a steelworker’s daughter on the western side of Birmingham. My Dad’s employer paid its employees double time for working holidays. My Dad, a survivor of the Great Depression who never took his job for granted, usually worked on Thanksgiving Day. We didn’t go to my grandparents for Thanksgiving lunch or dinner, even though one grandmother only lived a block away. Gathering and celebrating Thanksgiving with a large family meal just wasn’t a big deal to either side of my extended family.
All of that changed when I met my husband Bruce. His extended family gathered for Thanksgiving lunch at his Aunt Net’s house. The men watched NFL football, usually the Detroit Lions. Kids, tweens, and teenagers played touch football in the front yard. Moms struggled to get our meal together in a kitchen made for one cook.
We had the same menu every year: turkey; cornbread dressing and gravy; cranberry sauce; green beans; squash casserole; asparagus; sweet potato casserole with roasted marshmallows; pecan pie and brownies with fudge icing. Later in the afternoon, Bruce’s aunt brought out her large crystal punchbowl and served “Mee-Maw punch.” It was always the highlight of our day together.
Thanksgiving at Aunt Net’s house was a once-a-year food fest for at least 40 people. I loved the structure, the stability, and security that came from the family traditions that were firmly established. I also loved recording the memory with a group photo.
By the time my children became teenagers, Bruce’s mom and her two sisters were ready to hand the Thanksgiving hosting reins over to a younger generation. I volunteered our home for anyone who wanted to come. Up until Covid in 2020, we had 25-30 family members join us each year for Thanksgiving lunch. We still enjoyed the same menu, but “Mee-Maw” punch is now re-named “Mimi” punch.
Food triggers memories and creates important muscle memory. It helps us to remember who we are. Last Saturday as I made four pans of cornbread dressing to put in my freezer, I remembered my Mama all day. She always said, “Give me a chicken and I can feed a crowd.” And Mama did. Pans and pans of her dressing fed hundreds of folks at family reunions and funerals.
As I chopped celery and onions and added sage and poultry seasonings to crumbled cornbread, my kitchen smelled like Thanksgiving. I am forever grateful for the hearts and hands that made all those Thanksgiving memories possible.
Two weeks after James Bruce died, I spoke at a Big Oak Ranch House Moms retreat. Those sweet moms live with love and loss every day as they parent their children. They understand grief and loss. Their gift basket included the Big Oak Ranch Our Family cookbook. Many of the cookbook’s recipes originated with grandmothers who served their favorite holiday dishes and then handed the recipes down to the next generation. Here are some of my favorite “food as muscle memory” quotes from the BOR cookbook:
The best memories are made sitting around the table.
Kitchen: a gathering place for friends and family, a place where memories are homemade and seasoned with love.
A strong family has well-worn seats at the dinner table.
Cooking is love made visible.
God put three annual pilgrimage feasts into Israel’s rhythm of life. These holidays were designed to gather God’s people and help them remember who God is and what he had done in their lives. Remembering Him helped them to also remember who they were: God’s chosen people. May the same be true for us this Thanksgiving as we open our hearts and homes and feed those who gather at our tables.