I get excited about Thanksgiving and Christmas. The Turner holiday traditions are locked in stone. The day before, I brine the turkey, and Leticia, my housekeeper, makes casseroles. On the “feast day,” I put the turkey in the oven, and Leticia prepares the side-meat dishes (leg of lamb and prime rib or ham), the stuffing and gravy, and sets the table.

In LA, Thanksgiving and Christmas are always crisp and clear. Early afternoon, I open the gate for my guests to pull into the driveway. Every half hour, I nervously open the door and search the street to see if someone is coming down our street. Finally, a car drives in, and I see smiling faces yelling, “grandpa.” The other guests soon follow,  bearing their food contribution to the day’s feast. After an hour’s reception, we gather at the table, give thanks, and enjoy the food and companionship.

That was before the Covid-19 shutdown. There is no need to open the gate this year because my family and friends will not share the holidays with us. I will bake a small turkey and prepare the stuffing, gravy, and mashed potatoes;  Stacy, my daughter, will make her cornbread casserole. When the dinner is ready, Stacy and I will sit around that big table alone. At times, my mind will wander as I daydream about the holiday gatherings of yesteryears. I will be ninety-one years old when the 2021 Thanksgiving arrives. God willing, we will all be vaccinated, the virus scare will be over, and I will again be scanning the streets looking for our guests to pull into our driveway.