Thanksgiving week

My brother Larry and his son Josh have been here since last weekend. My sister Karen visited from Wednesday til yesterday; she and her helper Daria -- Karen has Down syndrome -- stayed at a motel not far from the airport.

I'd count Thanksgiving a success. The extended time with the guys hasn't been nearly as stressful as we'd feared (having the run of the entire downstairs takes a lot of pressure off us old people on the main level). Daria, the "stranger" at our table, turns out to be an interesting young woman with a deceptively little-girl voice.

We definitely missed the Arcata clan; this is the first time in decades that we haven't celebrated Thanksgiving together. But the turkey, and dinner in general, was one of the best. I brined the bird (a 23-lb. Diestel turkey from New Seasons), did the standard gravy, and made two dressings from recipes that appeared side-by-side in The Oregonian a couple of weeks ago. One was fairly traditional, including a big handful of fresh herbs plus a few extras, like celeriac, that I happened to have around; the other was made with whole-grain bread and featured dried cranberries and toasted hazelnuts. Both are keepers. I also did red cabbage with apples. Jer made garlic mashed potatoes and the marshmallow-topped sweets that he insists are his birthright as a Southerner, plus Susan Stamberg's and now our traditional cranberry relish, which includes horseradish, sour cream, and a stint in the freezer before serving. He also tried a green bean recipe that turned out wonderfully, with shallots, orange zest, and pecans candied in maple syrup. I made Josh's favorite pie, pumpkin eggnog, and my favorite, pecan. Jer made everybody else's fave, bourbon black-bottom chiffon. Six people at the dinner table, and three pies. Sounds about right to me.

Sure, a certain amount of wear and tear goes with hosting Thanksgiving, but it's really nice (and getting nicer by the year) to be the ones who get to stay home. Speaking of which, earlier in the week, a couple of guys from the Urban Forestry department showed up with a woodchipper and made short work of the big branch that fell in last Monday's windstorm. The city actually took care of it; we were pleasantly amazed. One more thing to be thankful for.

Things change

As far as I know, the little store, as everyone in the neighborhood calls it, is Eastmoreland's only storefront retail presence. Officially known as Eastmoreland Grocery and Market, it's been in business since the 1920s. Carol and Gary, who've run it for the past 20-some years, just sold it to a couple of local residents who plan to remodel and reopen as Eastmoreland Kitchen, a combination food store and deli. Last Saturday was closing day; the new owners hope to debut their revamped operation in about six weeks. I'll miss the funky ol' store with its year-round shelves of Santa Clauses, but I wish the new people well. I'm fantasizing a neighborhood hangout -- coffee in the morning, wine in the evening -- as well as a place to pick up emergency eggs or whatnot in the midst of dinner prep.

Last year we ordered our Thanksgiving turkey from the little store. This year it'll be New Seasons, I guess. Thanksgiving will be different in other respects as well. The Arcata clan won't be joining us. Victor's gone, and so's my mother. This will be the first Thanksgiving at our house without her. The plan is for my sister Karen to fly up from the Bay Area with a companion, and for Larry and Josh to wing in from Oahu and San Diego, respectively. Barring last-minute additions, there'll be just the six of us for dinner, the smallest Thanksgiving dinner Jerry and I have experienced together.

Thanksgiving used to be one of my favorite holidays. It was all about inclusion, sweeping in the strays. And about food, of course -- feeding the multitudes, as Jer likes to say. Sometimes we had 25 or 30 people in for a sit-down dinner. The last few years, though, Thanksgiving time has seemed fraught for one reason or another. This year feels like a turning point, and small seems appropriate for right now. Next year I think we'll invent a new tradition.

Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving Redux

Jerry and I have spent every Thanksgiving for decades -- in his case, 30-some years, predating our getting together -- with good friends in Arcata, in Humboldt county in Northern California. He met these folks when they were back-fence neighbors in Berkeley; their daughter Heidi was three at the time. She's now 40-something, married, with teenagers. Victor died, tragically, off the coast of Kauai, a couple of years ago. He drowned while trying to rescue his grandchildren from a rip current; they rode it safely back to shore, but Victor never made it. His wife, Sondra, is now matriarch of the clan.

Last year, the entire Arcata contingent -- Sondra, Heidi and her husband Jon, and their kids Sadie Rose and Elliot -- drove to Portland to spend the holiday with us. My brother Larry and nephew Josh, plus my mother and sister Karen, were here as well. This year it was our turn to make the trip south. We invested in a set of traction tires in case we encountered snow in the mountain passes. We lucked out on that score, but man, did it rain! With the exception of the half-hour we stopped for lunch, it poured nonstop, and torrentially, the entire way. At one point, on 199 beyond Grant's Pass, it was like going through a carwash. I've never seen it rain so relentlessly.

But it was wonderful to see our old friends again, and to spend some time with Larry, Josh (who just turned 12 and is a total computer geek), and Larry's girlfriend Kate. We stayed in a very nice suite, furnished in Ikea, overlooking the incredibly entertaining goings-on in Arcata Plaza. Larry & Co. had a two-bedroom unit next door, with an artsy Oriental vibe to it, and an even better view of the Plaza circus. The five of us got in a couple of good long walks through Arcata Marsh, a combined municipal wastewater treatment site and bird sanctuary that our friend Victor had helped make happen when he was mayor.

Heidi prepared soup and salad for the multitudes on Wednesday night. Friends of Sondra's had offered to host Thanksgiving dinner itself, since they had room to spare. Friday evening was leftovers, of course, which Sondra orchestrated and we visitors hosted in our palatial digs at the Plaza. By 6:15 Saturday morning, Jer and I were on the road again, fortified with turkey sandwiches for en route. The weather gods smiled on us this time; it was dry the whole way, and the drive was as glorious as an 8-hour car trip can be.

The only trouble with "away" years is that we get hardly any leftovers. So, after we got home, I decided to brine a turkey -- which I've wanted to try, but last year was just too intense, what with family and other distractions -- and invite a couple of friends for Thanksgiving Redux on Monday night. I made mushroom-leek dressing to go with it, Jer cooked sweet potatoes and green beans, and we had leftover cranberry relish (the horseradish and sour cream variation that Susan Stamberg used to give out on NPR). I also made an apple cake, which we served a la mode. The gravy turned out perfectly, and the brining really did make a difference in the moistness and flavor of the turkey. It's not that big a deal; you just have to think of it the day before.

So now we have about three gallons of turkey stock in the freezer, and enough light and dark meat for a couple of the stew/ragout/soup recipes I've been looking forward to cooking, or having Chef Jerub cook. Now it feels like we've well and truly done Thanksgiving.