Mashed Potatoes ~ a story

I woke up early this morning, too early for a day off, but my body is conditioned to wake up for work today.  I contemplated going back to sleep, but the house was dark and quiet.  The children are fast asleep.  The TV is not on.  The phone is quiet, which is amazing in a house of a teenager.  The allure of some quiet time was much more enticing than sleep.  I fed the cats, who were pleased by the early morning breakfast.  I ground some coffee, brewed a pot, and settled into my chair with a cup.  Coffee is like nectar from God to me, and I savored the taste.  I remembered that it was Thanksgiving, a day to remember your blessings, to feel home, to feel family.  It brings a host of memories of those good times that ground you, and are the core of you. 

I remember a time, when my mother was alive.  I was pregnant with my first child and in my first trimester.  I was a bundle of emotions with all of those hormones running through me.  We sat at the big dinning table overflowing with a bountiful feast.  My mother and father at the heads of the table.  There is a system to passing the dishes around the table to prevent confusion, and everything went clockwise.  Pregnant and starving, I watched the mashed potatoes move around the table with great anticipation.  I saw my niece, who we renamed Moolissa after this day, pile her plate high and wide with the coveted mashed potatoes.  By the time had reached the clockwise cycle, I was the last to hold the dish.  I had an empty bowl, with just a bit left on the spoon.  Tears welled in my eyes.  I put my head down a bit to conceal the tears spilling down my cheeks.  My mother asks me what is wrong.  "Nothing, I am fine Mom", I said in a whisper.  She asks me again, and I again I insist that there is nothing wrong.  My mother was determined to find the source of my unhappiness.  She slapped her hand on the table and yelled, "WHAT IS THE MATTER!!"  It was like the damn broke loose, and I wailed in a cry of desperation, "THERE IS NO MORE MASHED POTATOES!!"

All eighteen people at the table dropped their forks, and turned to look at me and immediately turned to Moolissa with about 5lbs of mashed potatoes on her plate piled high.  My mother immediately went to work to rectify the situation, and I was provided a portion of the prized side dish of the feast.  My tears dried as I fed my craving. 

To this day, eighteen years later, my family remembers this Thanksgiving story.  There are copious amounts of mashed potatoes made for every Thanksgiving feast. We fear that we may run out again as we did many years ago.  Although Moolisa will not be present today at my brother's house, we will still make 10 lbs of mashed potatoes.  Never deny a pregnant woman her mashed potatoes, it could get ugly. 

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my Gather friends.  May you have a table with overflowing mashed potatoes, love, family, blessings and a wonderful feeling of home.