A Strange But Sweet Little Thanksgiving

As you grow older, your expectations for the holidays change.  For some, crowds are just annoying.  A hundred screaming kids and a bunch of people, many of whom  you barely know, are just not your cup of tea.  Others can't see why they should be breaking bread with people they would never choose to be around socially just because of some accident of familial relation.  To these folks, holidays are about close family and dear friends. And finally, there are folks who just don't have a place to go. Their family and friends have passed on or moved away or are in some way estranged. These are the folks who eat Thanksgiving dinner in restaurants.  I have been told by some who have experienced it that Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant is just about the loneliest event you will ever experience.  Until this year, Sheila and I had never eaten Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant.  But, for reasons more complicated that I need go into here, we wound up eating out this year and it was an absolutely delightful experience.

We met Sheila's sister Daphene and her husband Tommy at Jincy's in Qualls, Cherokee Nation, USA shortly before 1:00 pm Thanksgiving Day. Reservations are required and there are three sittings, 11:00 o'clock, 1:00 o'clock and 3:00 o'clock.  Our reservations were for the 1:00 o'clock sitting.  As we arrived, we met Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation, Bill John Baker, leaving from the earlier sitting.

Seating is family style and so is the service.  We were seated and waited while the 1:00 o'clock buffet line was set up.  We recognized a few faces from our last trip over and spoke to them briefly.  As a matter of fact, the whole crowd was friendly. When the meal was ready, the proprietor Debbie Rucker came out and announced "We say grace here over our meal." She said it in a sweet but firm Okie voice that gently proclaimed, "You're in my place in the Oklahoma hills and this is our heritage. If you don't like it, get over it."  God bless her.  I'm sure her ancestor Jincy would have been proud of her. Grace was offered by a local businessman who sounded exactly my Baptist ancestors.  I've heard that prayer or its equivalent a thousand times and offered it many times myself.  But, it was still sweet and comforting to hear it again.  It gave me the feeling that even though I was in the midst strangers for the most part, I was still at home in the unique culture I love so dearly.  I have nothing but pity and disgust for those self hating Okies who turn their back on or worse make fun of their rich cultural heritage.  

I really don't know how to describe the food.  It was real home cooking done right by good cooks.  The turkey, ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, dressing, sweet potatoes, green beans, corn and pinto beans were all perfect.  The best way I can describe it is to say that it tasted like my mom and grandma's cooking when they got it right.  For dessert, I had just a sliver of pecan pie, chocolate pie and huckleberry cobbler.  The pecan pie is the best I have ever tasted. Sorry Mom.  Sorry Gwenda.  This is the best. Same with the chocolate pie. Best ever.

After the meal, we sat and talked a while.  Daphene's breast cancer surgery scheduled for this week was the 900 pound elephant in the room.  My wife Sheila is a breast cancer survivor. She and Daphene eventually talked about it.  Daphene shared her feelings about the utter insensitivity and outright boorishness displayed by some people when they find out you have cancer.   Sheila shared some of her experiences. particularly what it is like to live with one breast and a mass of scar tissue.  It was not a conversation for sissies but neither was it morbid.  It was the right talk at the right time in the right place between the right people.

After a while, the crowd began paying their (not insubstantial, thirty bucks a person)

checks and thinning out.  We left after a while, visited a bit more in the parking lot and then called it a day.  My only regret is that I could not arrange for Daphene to get her photo taken with one of the Model A Fords in the parking lot that some of the folks had driven up in.  She wanted to borrow my pistol, hike her leg up on the running board and pose like Bonnie of Bonnie and Clyde. Unfortunately, the folks driving the Model A's got away before we could ask them for permission.  I will make that happen for her yet. Other than that, I wouldn't change a thing.