THANKSGIVINGS PAST For the first years of my life, up to about the age of eight, we always had Thanksgiving with my Berry Grandparents. My grandmother, Jessie, was a wonderful cook and could set a beautiful table. Her holiday table glittered and glistened. I always begged to spend the night at her house the night before so I could be up early and get to the kitchen where the tastes and smells were so absolutely glorious. Jessie had a stool for me to stand on so I could see and taste everything. She always had her sterling silver goblets on the table, and I was allowed to drink out of one. She gave me those goblets as a wedding present. Her dining room would seat eight or ten without crowding, but the chairs were covered with wool needlepoint and
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they scratched the backs of my bare legs. That was if I got to sit in the dining room with the big folks. You see, I was the baby of the family for the first seven years of my life. Usually, there would be Mammy, my great-grandmother, Jessie and Grandy, Mom and Dad, my aunt Janice and uncle Jack Scott, my big brother and me, my great-uncle Carey Lindley (his wife died before I could remember her), Cary’s son, Bill Lindley, his wife, and two children. I was totally smitten with Bill who was an army air corps officer. I drooled on his spit-shined shoes even at the age of four. From there the numbers fluctuated over the years from 14 to 20. My grandfather died when I was eight years old and their farm, that adjoined ours, was sold. Those Thanksgivings in the big dining room at Jessie and Grandy’s ended, but I can remember them as if they were yesterday. When grace was said, everyone added something they were especially thankful for that day. Even I got to add my thanks for my pony, Brownie. After those years at my grandparents’ house, Mom took over the Thanksgiving dinner. We often had two or three cadets from Texas A&M who were un-
