Little Cubes of Gratitude

It's Thanksgiving week for me, as we celebrate early, and I have started the cooking preparations. That said, every day is a day of thanks giving when you choose to embrace gratitude. Stick with me on this, we'll circle back around.

Today I cubed bread to make stuffing. I know I can buy dried bread, sometimes for less than what I pay to make it myself. I know there are stuffing mixes out there. None that compare with homemade though. I also know, no matter how much stuffing I make it is never, ever, enough. So I slice the bread, and for the next few days I'll gently turn it over and over as it dries out. I'll remember other Thanksgivings each time I stir the bread cubes.

Other Thanksgivings were different, some were much much easier. Some were full tables of 20+ people. There were adult tables, and kids tables. There was polishing the good silver, getting out Great Grandma's china. There was the joy of the holiday and the fear in the background that too much alcohol consumed by the adults would change the joy to tense moments of anger. Childhood holidays often went like that. There was one Thanksgiving I was sick with mono. The kids and I ate just the basics, turkey, mashed potato's, gravy. Pretty sure I didn't make stuffing that year. We ate off of paper plates and it was good. There were smoked turkeys, deep fried turkeys, and feed the college kids and their friends turkeys.

The times change, the faces change, but the traditions continue. The bread must be cubed and dried. It's what I do to feed those I love with love. It's hard to accept that there are empty places at the table and there always will be. It's hard to find peace in knowing they were fed with love over the years and still they are gone. It's hard to wish you could have fixed it for them, that enough love would have made a difference. It is finding the grace to accept you did all you could, and the choice was not yours.

So I find myself looking ahead, and looking back as I cube the bread. There are tears and anticipation. There are memories to savor, memories to heal from, new memories to make. They are simple cubes of bread that hold so much love. I'd be remiss if I didn't stir in vast amounts of gratitude. Gratitude for feasts, for faith, for family. Gratitude for the path I'm on, for the pain that I feel, for the healing that I find on the journey. Gratitude for bread, cubed, dried and shared with those I love.