Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade
As a special, special Thanksgiving Day treat, the wine glasses came out of the china closet and the family had a glass of wine with dinner. There was some sort of toast. The wine glasses rarely came out of the china closet otherwise and wine hardly ever came in to the house. There was always a bit of excitement about the wine—these were a people who received communion in a diminutive cup of Welch's grape juice. I can't comment on the quality, although I was always allowed a sip.
On Thanksgiving Eve, my mother and grandmother received corsages from their husbands. The big chrysanthemums, bedecked with a russet and/or yellow bow, depending on the color of the flower, were carefully stored overnight in the already over-full refrigerator. The ladies wore the enormous, cumbersome spider mums to the table, pinned to their best dresses with great ceremony. It all felt very formal to me, as a child. It was definitely a ritual, formal meal—outside of ordinary time. An "occasion".
The cut-glass pepper and salt shakers came out of the china closet as well. They were wiped off, and the tarnished silver tops removed and polished. In the belief that "pepper doesn't go bad" we used the pepper that was still in the shakers since the last time they were filled—probably some time before the flood.
This is accurate if you're from Connecticut, where the Great Danbury Flood of 1955 is still frequently referenced. The pepper came out four times a year. My grandparents were Scots/English. They used pepper with tremendous restraint. It was never poured directly on food, rather, it was meted out pinch-by-pinch in to the palm of the hand first. Only after the volume had been measured in this way, was it judiciously sprinkled on the festive plate. "Don't use too much now! It's very strong" my mother would caution. Occasionally a family member grew reckless, following that single glass of ritual wine, and actually shook pepper directly out of the shaker on to the food. But they usually regretted it.
By my calculations, the pepper that was in the shaker on the Sunday of my confirmation in to the Protestant faith, would have lasted at least through my high school graduation. As my Catholic husband said "to the Protestants, pepper is an 'exotic' spice—the only one they know." We lived like medieval peasants, at least when it came to pepper. The way we used pepper, you'd think it was hauled to Brooklyn by overland camels.
