By Betty, November, 2008

My first Thanksgiving alone in 85 years was a time for new traditions.

Time for memories and new traditions. . .

Ah, those Thanksgivings of old. Where did they go so fast? My Grandfather always said Grace, in Danish. None of us knew what he said, but we all knew to “be thankful.” All the cousins piled on the bed with Grandma, who told us stories of growing up in Denmark – Oh, for a tape recorder then.

Later. . .
Thanksgiving at home. Mother’s treasured antique china set — a beautiful table. No one moved a dish but Mother; the china still precious, you can’t touch but you can look.

The first snow of winter in Minnesota. . .
my Dad taking us ice skating on the frozen lake. Driving home 30 miles in blinding snowstorms on icy roads — my Dad driving into a farm yard and asking for refuge. Never once denied. Imagine that now.

Now. . .
I have new friends to be thankful for.
I wasn’t alone after all.

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