They had been a couple for more than twenty years.  Each having been married before, tying the knot in front of a judge or minister didn’t appeal, but their relationship was committed and solid.  Not until two months ago, when ill health and inheritance laws made it mandatory did thoughts of a wedding intrude.  She, too sick to walk down an aisle, stayed in the van in the Dollar General parking lot while a designated official did the honors.

Enter two families.  In the intervening months a small miracle had occurred.  She was given a new medication that bought more time.  Family was coming, both his and hers, to make sure that this Thanksgiving was one to remember.  The suggestion was made that right before dinner would be a good time to really celebrate their vows.  After all, one of the relatives was a minister, more than happy to do the honors.  Two others were musicians with banjos at the ready.  We already had the feast planned.  The perfect lakeshore was only yards from their front door.  Her father was there to give her away; her sisters were there to help her dress.  A favorite niece was thrilled to be the flower girl.

One group of family decorated the house with flowers and candles.  Another went to buy a wedding ring.  I found the grocery store and bought the only cake not decorated with Thanksgiving turkeys.  The bride’s choice of processional music was discovered in a neighbor’s CD collection.  The couple’s old Jack Russell agreed to be the ring bearer.

They were married again as the sun set.  The bride, who until recently had not even been able to stand, walked down the aisle on her father’s arm.  At the most solemn moment of the ceremony a trio of sandhill cranes flew across the lake and into the sunset, calling as they flew, as if in blessing.

I have attended many weddings and many Thanksgiving dinners.  I will likely attend more.  This Thanksgiving will always be one of the truly special ones.  In the midst of uncertainty, two families, nearly strangers, joined together and made sure there was much to be thankful for.

Historical facts are always in dispute.  Not having been at the Thanksgiving celebration at Plymouth Plantation so many years ago, I can’t tell you what was said, how politically correct were the attitudes, whether the Native Americans spoke excellent English, as some claim, or excellent Algonkian.  I’m not even sure what was consumed, although wild game’s a given.  Having seen turkeys in the wild, I know what an addition they would have been.

Accuracy is important, and I thank the historians who struggle for it.  But at this time of year, I concentrate on the spirit of the holiday.  There have been harvest festivals throughout time, and myriad occasions when we have gathered together to thank whatever God we worship for the blessings in our lives.  Gratitude doesn’t set us apart from our fellow creatures, but the ability to express it is powerful and life altering, and for the most part, all our own.

So let me offer my own words of gratitude.  Thanks for following my blog this year.  Southern Exposure began just slightly more than a year ago, and I loved writing it from the start, although that was unexpected.  I appreciate your thoughtful, sometimes hilarious comments, your frequently expressed appreciation for my novels, the way you have shared important personal moments of your own here, on Facebook or in email.  You’ve made this blog a joy, and joy is underrated.

May you have good food on your table this holiday, good friends around it, and good times with family, who share your good memories of other holidays. 

Happy Thanksgiving from my house to yours.