So, Turn The Page Already!

If you live long enough, change and endings are inevitable. I will not gather my family together for Thanksgiving Dinner. this year. I am in the process of dealing with that.

It hasn't happened suddenly. It 's a long time since I did everything. The family grew. First were the children. Then they were teenagers with friends. After that, they were couples, then there were grandchildren. Sometimes the odd set of parents of spouses came, then friends of grandchildren. The numbers were always more than thirty and sometimes over forty.

I was obsessive about some things. A table or tables had to be set and Grace said. Plates needed to be hot and food steaming. Bread sauce called for onions and cloves to be soaked in milk on top of the stove all day, to be finished with soft white crumbs, cream and butter. Pies had to be home-baked, served still warm with freshly whipped cream

Cranberry sauce was made with orange juice and slivered almonds. One year I served it in cups of half oranges with the innards scooped out..... very pretty...never did that again.

The ham would be baked the day before and form part of the decor. In a clear amber coating with pineapple rings and studded with cloves, it held pride of place on the sideboard. Sausage stuffing with sage and onion was also made the night before. On the day, everybody stayed close to the kitchen. Stuffing had to be sampled and the rich gravy from the drippings sipped from a spoon. Grandchildren darted in like magpies to steal Aunt Heather's hot crusty buns as they came from the oven.

In time, gourmet vegetables and other dishes came from satellite homes. It all added to the festivity.

The talk would swell as the wine flowed and gales of laughter regularly erupted. My minstrel son, Frank, would sometimes bring his guitar - to the delight of all present. As grandchildren grew they joined the adult circle and shared in the sometimes raucous hilarity. But there were still always little ones tumbling about.

The change was gradual. My daughter Heather, without whose help the event would long have been impossible, put her foot down.

"You can't hope to sit everyone at a table, Mother. Give it up. Plates cups and cutlery have to be paper and plastic." Since she was in charge of the clean-up, that's how it came to be. It certainly made things easier.

Tipsy Trifle no longer appeared on the dessert table. Some desserts became store-bought but Brie cheese rounds baked in pastry and served with red-pepper jelly made a new and highly delectable appearance as an appetizer from the kitchen of Storm. Two types of punch were a resplendent display of strawberries, kiwi and star fruits, the creation of Marnie,. Theresa's Ceasar salad was a hit with everybody.

Then no-shows began. First one grandchild, then another and, inevitably, Thanksgiving at Grannie's became second choice on some years. .Other excitements beckoned. Now , the satellites are wider afield; London, Peterborough, Ottawa, Sudbury, Seattle and Korea for goodness sake.

Heather, who has been a stay-at-home mother, acquired skills in election organizing. When it's happening, the task is almost twenty-four/seven. She has long been my co-host, my election campaign organizer, my manager and involved with sundry other tasks too numerous to mention. Without her, Thanksgiving dinner would have been beyond me years ago. This year, a provincial election overlaps Thanksgiving.

This family has been almost sixty years in the making. I brought two sons from England. Then there were three more and two daughters. They envied their friends family reunions. So I built it for them. I nurtured it, it grew and flourished. Now they are each other's friends.

Grandchildren know their cousins as blood brothers and sisters. There are no family feuds.. Thanksgiving gatherings have always been a joy. My task is done.

Am I sad? Not at this moment.

I have often pondered the question, at what point does a parent stop being a parent.? Is it when children become adults? No, not then. There is no precise moment. But on the basis of my experience, I have to say, if children have been raised to stand on their own feet, there comes a time when they do exactly that and there is no longer a parental role.

Mine have been independent many times longer than they were dependent. I have grown accustomed to the fact.

This year, Thanksgiving at Grannie's house will not be.. It may never happen again the way it was. Was it precious?.... .. Indeed it was......Indeed it was.

The Daily Tabloid

I am convinced my daily newspaper is contorting itself into a tabloid. The realization has been gradual. Royson James has been a beacon of gloom for some time. He has a daily column and presents as an expert on all things municipal. No reference is offered for his expertise. Nothing he writes reveals familiarity with the workings of any city in Ontario.

He recently offered ten bullet points to resolve the city's financial woes. Raising taxes was not one. It seems Toronto has a real aversion to raising property taxes to pay for needed services. Apparently they do not care for user fees either.

James first suggestion was for elected officials to surrender their perks: free passes to the zoo and city golf courses. He acknowledges giving up "freebies" would not save much. It would be a symbolic. Well hell, it's numbers that make the bottom line, not symbols.

How many times does a person visit the zoo? Why does the city own and operate golf courses? Shirley Hoy, city manager, says they will close a month early to save money. Why not sell the golf courses, make a few million and save a whole lot of money?

The paper had another story recently, complete with picture; a man with a baker's tray full of chinese dumplings. The dumplings were said to be filled with ground up corrugated cardboard laced with toxic stuff for flavour. I was horrified. A couple of weeks later, on an inside page, it was revealed the dumpling story had been a hoax . A Chinese reporter had gone to jail for reporting it. The Toronto paper however had printed it.

The final fable was about an American study of seniors’ sexual activity. It seems seniors had told researchers that x number between the ages of 75 and 85 years old are giving or receiving oral sex x times a month.

The fact these were face to face interviews was offered to verify the accuracy of the study. The story ended with a quote from Dr. Ruth, a seventy-nine year old sex therapist who gained fame from her frank, free, and joyful discussion of sex. She told the reporter she never answers personal questions.

That left me to imagine a group of anonymous seventy-five to eighty-five year olds being questioned by an earnest, youthful researcher about whether and how often they had given or received oral sex.

"Oh sure. Of course. We seniors are as hip as you juniors. How many times d'you think?"

Wink wink. Nudge nudge. How's your father

Today is the day I cancel my subscription to the Daily Tabloid. I need to be able to believe what I read. I have never subscribed to the Toronto Sun. I cancelled the Globe and Mail when it started emulating the Sun. The National Post never appealed. As much as I like turning pages, from now on I intend to choose what I read from outlets on the internet.

A Pat On The Back - www.Auroran.com

HEATHER'S NOTE: We've just learned that The Auroran is now online. I'm thrilled, because this means I can read the paper online, and can refer to it any time. I'm going to make an effort to link all of Evelyn's letters to the editor to the page on The Auroran's site. Kudo's to Ron Wallace and his team for their efforts and accomplishments. Keep up the good work!
~HEATHER SISMAN