Letter From Publisher; November 2013

My family of origin was never very traditional, but as I get older, I see the value of the traditions and rituals as an important part of knitting the generations together and ultimately reminding us that we are all one, on the exact same journey, although the scenery along the way or the starting time of our journey may be different. Letter from Publisher.

This poem by Edgar A. Guest (1881-1959) is a beautiful recount of an old-fashioned Thanksgiving, and it’s my hope that whatever your traditions and rituals and regardless of how many or who joins you for a meal or day of gratitude, that all your Thanksgivings are made of meaningful moments and strong relationships worthy of fond reflection for a lifetime.

The Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving

It may be I am getting old and like too much to dwell

Upon the days of bygone years, the days I loved so well;

But thinking of them now I wish somehow that I could know

A simple old Thanksgiving Day, like those of long ago,

When all the family gathered round a table richly spread,

With little Jamie at the foot and grandpa at the head,

The youngest of us all to greet the oldest with a smile,

With mother running in and out and laughing all the while.

It may be I’m old-fashioned, but it seems to me to-day

We’re too much bent on having fun to take the time to pray;

Each little family grows up with fashions of its own;

It lives within a world itself and wants to be alone.

It has its special pleasures, its circle, too, of friends;

There are no get-together days; each one his journey wends,

Pursuing what he likes the best in his particular way,

Letting the others do the same upon Thanksgiving Day.

I like the olden way the best, when relatives were glad

To meet the way they used to do when I was but a lad;

The old home was a rendezvous for all our kith and kin,

And whether living far or near they all came trooping in

With shouts of “Hello, daddy!” as they fairly stormed the place

And made a rush for mother, who would stop to wipe her face

Upon her gingham apron before she kissed them all,

Hugging them proudly to her breast, the grownups and the small.

Then laughter rang throughout the home, and, Oh, the jokes they told;

From Boston, Frank brought new ones, but father sprang the old;

All afternoon we chatted, telling what we hoped to do,

The struggles we were making and the hardships we’d gone through;

We gathered round the fireside. How fast the hours would fly—

It seemed before we’d settled down ‘twas time to say good-bye.

Those were the glad Thanksgivings, the old-time families knew

When relatives could still be friends and every heart was true.

 

Wishing you all a blessed and safe Thanksgiving.

Martee’

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