Warmth

A brief exchange in the kitchen aisle at Walmart got me thinking. 

The night before Thanksgiving, I went to buy a small pot to cook meals for the next 5 days away. I would be spending it alone at the School House. I would be striking a match to light the old gas stove top - not for family members gathered around the table talking, but just for myself in the quietude of the country. An unusual year called for an unique Thanksgiving. 

I heard a young man’s voice behind me call out respectfully, “Excuse me, ma’am?” No one replied, so he must’ve been talking to me. I turned around and he indeed, needed me. 

In regards to the one huge box resting in his cart, he asked sincerely, “Do you know if this will cook a turkey?” 

I stepped closer to take a look at the roaster/boiler he chose. I smiled, “Well, it does have a picture right on the box with a turkey roasting right in it!” I thought that would settle the matter. 

He asked me again, “Yeah, but do you think it will cook it?” He seemed genuinely concerned. 

I paused and briefly searched my mental files, expecting I could muster up some wisdom, figuring he needed some experienced assurance.  I was honored to potentially be that person that would put water on his nervous flames. 

I came to my conclusion, laughing and slapping my thigh. “You asked the wrong person - I don’t know. I’ve never cooked a turkey in my life!” It’s true. I ‘ve only baked pies to bring to Thanksgiving get-togethers. I was always the pie person. Pumpkin or cherry, but apple was a family favorite. I wouldn’t be baking any pies this year. 

The young man, who looked like a “Ryan” to me, didn’t get the reassurance he wanted from me, so he quickly wheeled his cart in the opposite direction and admitted, “This is my first time.” 

I called out and waved to him, “Good luck!” as he rolled away from me and into a different aisle. It was my “first time”, too, celebrating all I am thankful for - on my own. My heart is full of gratitude this year, despite it being challenging.

I stood staring at glass lids, curious now. Was it just his first time making a turkey, or first time alone on the holiday? Where was his mom to tell him how to cook it? Would Ryan be solo for Thanksgiving, like me? Why? Was it because of quarantining, or some other reason? Was he excited to start some new tradition or sad? Who was he making the turkey for? Why did he ask me for advice? Why didn’t I ask him more questions? I thought about how brief the conversation was and the potential for a connection that I didn’t bother to stoke. So many questions.

Heavy with more meaning and importance, I thought of my own son, similar in age to Ryan. My son was having a first time without me on Thanksgiving. This is the deeper connection that I truly grieved. My sweet son is the one that I feel sad about letting down. My son, who I wonder and worry about. 

Clearly, no matter how old you get, and how things can even be illustrated on a box with answers, you look to your mom for reassurance. You trust your mom for guidance. I want to retain that connection with my son who I miss so much. Not having the answers for Ryan, or my son, they will have to look to others they trust and essentially - their own intuition.

Turn up the heat and take risks. Fire and intention. That’s how you cook a turkey, or do anything I suppose. I’ll always be a mom. I may not have all the answers, but I have the warmth of a maternal love that will never flicker out. 


Beauty is Everywhere. 

- Holly