Thanksgiving 2017 (my broken holiday record)

I’ve always enjoyed Thanksgiving, every bit of it from the Macy’s Day Parade to the overeating to the next-day turkey sandwich.

When I was a kid, the day started with a trip to Parson’s Cider Mill.

Although I grew up in a city, the neighborhood was pretty weird. It was full of three-deckers, grocery stores and pharmacies, hairdressers and barbers, gas stations and used car lots, schools (public and parochial), churches (Catholic, Congo, and one weird evangelical other), a couple of mangy parks, and other urban trappings. It also had plenty of country: in or just off my street alone there were deep woods, a pond, and a working farm of sorts that even had a couple of cows, until one harsh winter when they froze to death, standing in place, and the Worcester Public Health Department had to come up and bulldoze them over and out. We had fields to play in. An abandoned reservoir. And we had Parson’s Cider Mill, open between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and where we would get two gallons of cider for each of those holidays, as in those days, no one served wine. Grownups had a highball or two (or a sherry for most of the women), then everyone drank cider. I still have an empty jug. (Not quite my Rosebud, but definitely an icon of my childhood.) After Christmas, our empties were stored in the basement and brought back to Parson’s for a refill the next Thanksgiving, when my father would take us kids (and our Radio Flyer wagon, used to haul the cider back home) around the corner to Parson’s. (It sounds almost Little House in the Prairie, doesn’t it?)

This year, I’ll be celebrating at my sister Kath’s, and much looking forward to it. There will be cider, I’m quite sure, but – alas – Parson’s is no more. (Not that we’d be going out to Worcester to fetch cider, mind you.)

Thanksgiving…

This year I’m thankful for the things I’m always thankful for: family and friends, my work, good health (other than a few mechanical difficulties: who knows what yesterday’s MRI of my ankle will reveal), a lovely home, wonderful memories, and the fact that, nearly one year in, the republic, while teetering, still stands.

Here’s last year’s post, if you want to see the full bill of thanks fare for the day.

This year, I want to do a special shout out to St. Francis House, a day shelter (and more) doing amazing work to help Boston’s poor, especially those who are experiencing homelessness.

While I’ve been involved with St. Francis House for many years, this year, I decided to spend some quality time by regularly volunteering in the kitchen and in clothing distribution.

Each day, SFH serves more than 700 meals (breakfast and lunch), and chefs Seth and Laurel do a spectacular job turning out nutritious and pretty damned good meals – and a spectacular job making things fun for the volunteers who help prepare and serve meals. (When I do a 9-1 shift, I eat lunch there before we serve. Everything I’ve had has been very tasty. And there’s been laughter at every shift I’ve worked there, too.)

Each month, SFH distributes 750 changes of clothing: new undies and socks, and mostly donated (some new, some used) shirts, pants, and sweaters. Working in Fresh Threads (our clothing distribution center) is quite interesting. In the kitchen, we just see the guests as they go through the food line. At Fresh Threads, volunteers work one on one with guests, talking to them about their clothing druthers and then going “shopping” for them. Although I don’t have a regular shift that I work, I’ve had the same people a couple of times, and have gotten to know them a bit. So I know that M doesn’t want any clothing with “plastic” (i.e., polyester) in it. And that D doesn’t like white tee-shirts because they remind him of prison.

We’re usually pretty well stocked with shirts and, to lesser extent, pants, and can generally get someone the long sleeved, collared shirt they want, but maybe not always a pair of jeans.

What we tend to run low on are shoes/boots and coats. When a warm parka comes in, it’s probably back out the door in 10 minutes. But there’s never enough, and it’s tough telling someone to try again next week for a warm jacket when it’s 30 degrees out. Ditto a pair of sturdy boots or shoes. Guests can get a fresh set of duds – undies, shirts, pants – once a week. But they can only get shoes and outerwear once every three months. More than once I’ve tried to convince someone not to take that pair of shoes that don’t really fit, not to take that lightweight jacket that will be useless tomorrow. But when you’re desperate…

When I think of the clothing choices I have in my closet. The food choices I have in my larder. And the fact that there’s never a day where I have to worry about where I’ll be laying my head down that night.

To see these folks who have so little, yet are – get this – pretty much just like us. Maybe a few more bad choices, always a lot more bad luck.

If you’re feeling inclined to make an “I’m thankful” donation today, you could do worse than make it to St. Francis House.