America is a country divided. Everyone is taking sides over everything. Red. Blue. Right. Left. Pro. Con. There are rules governing conversation, politics being the number one no-no. In some circles even the weather is off limits. Discussion dissolves into debate. And in the end, each side goes home with their position hardened, not changed.

This time of year division is an annual tradition. But it’s not politics that creates the declaration of sides. It’s the “sides”. Sweet or mashed. Stuffing or dressing. Brussels sprouts or green beans. Cornbread. No bread. Suddenly even the turkey prompts debate. This year it’s about brine. There’s the brine is the best thing to happen to a turkey school. And those who say don’t ever, ever, ever, brine the turkey; hasn’t it suffered enough.

Thanksgiving menus are interesting. They’re regional. Familial. Cultural. And often writ in stone. My menu is not allowed to change. I’ve snuck a few things in over the years – sometimes at my peril – but basically it’s my mother’s menu. Same one I ate as a child. Same one my children ate. Same one my grandchildren eat. In my family there’s no changing sides.

I love this holiday. I love having family and friends gathered around a table I decorate from  my Thanksgiving box. Over the years, I’ve collected turkeys and pumpkins and pinecones and other decorative symbols of the holiday. My table is gorgeous – if I do say so myself. I’m pretty organized about the cooking and serving, but the best part of the day is usually the chaos in the kitchen when the bird comes out of the oven. And the love and laughter around the table.

This year, my menu is the same. My table is the same. But my mood is not quite as light. One look at the devastation in California and I know that what I should be most thankful for is that I have a table. When so many don’t.

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