RE Bunch

Memory #1

My first memory of Thanksgiving was sitting on my grandparent’s porch. It was snowing that Thanksgiving. I was five years old that year. I was told that was strange. Not me being five, but the snowing part. It was warm the previous day, and now it was snowing. This was the first Thanksgiving my great grandmother would not be with us. She died in the summertime. I killed her. She was in her garden pulling some dandelions from her rose bed. I was running after the stray cat that wandered into her yard and bumped into her. She fell face-first into the roses. She was torn up badly but said she lived through worse. Five days later the doctors said she had Necrotizing fasciitis. I remember going to see her to say I was sorry. The top of her head to her eyes was covered in gauze. It was soaked with blood and pus. Her cheeks were slipping off her face. I screamed instead. It snowed a lot that year.

Memory #2

This is a recipe that has been passed down for generations in my family. It came over from the old country with my great-great-grandfather. While the family and places may have changed over the years, this will always remain the same. It is tradition and must be respected.

Crabapple-Cranberry Chutney

Ingredients

• 1 precious object, inanimate or animate
• 1 medium-sized adult goat, live
• 1 pewter knife
• 6 cups (1.5 L) crabapples, stemmed and seeded
• 2 cups (500 mL) fresh cranberries
• 2 cups (500 mL) sugar
• 1 cup (250 mL) water
• 1 cup (250 mL) apple cider vinegar
• 1 onion, chopped
• 2 garlic cloves, crushed
• 1 tsp–1 tbsp (5-15 mL) fresh thyme or sage, chopped, or 1 tsp (5 mL) curry powder or paste

Directions

1. Travel into the heart of the Bog. Once you have arrived, you will need to make the offering. Place your precious object next to the dead and withered crabapple tree. If your precious object is still living, make sure it can understand this command and that it stays under the tree. This is important and has led to poor harvest the following year.
2. Lead the goat to the edge of the water and plant the pewter knife into the ground. Drop to your knees and offer your thanks and eternal service to the Bog. Then proceed to run. Run fast and do not look back. Hide behind the first large rock you find. Ignore the ethereal light that is being emitted from the Bog. Ignore the screaming of the goat. Ignore that your most precious possession is being absorbed into the being of the Bog. Rest assured your sacrifice will be rewarded the following harvest.
3. Once an uneasy calm has settled around you. Proceed back to the now fruit-bearing crabapple tree. The tree should be heavy with apples and the water will be crimson from the cranberries. Gather the fruits of your labor.
4. Combine remaining ingredients in a slow cooker. Turn to Low for 6-8 hours, until mixture is dark and thick. Mash using a potato masher or a large spoon, being sure to break up the apples.
   1. If you are making this in advance, use a standard jarring procedure to make sure the chutney will not spoil.

Memory #3

The air is cold and wet. It hugs my back tightly and fills my lungs. It seeps through my tattered jacket, through my skin and blood, and into my bones. The fire in front of me is just a facade. It does not heat but provides the idea of heat. My family huddles in closer to me, and for this, I am truly thankful.

We have spent all day running. Running from the invaders. They landed on Monday, and it is already too late. We were overrun. We do not know where they are from, or what they want. I think all efforts to understand have stopped. We are surviving. Tonight our home is a cave with a hidden entrance. “I heard they can heat scan through 5 kilometers of granite. Do you think we are safe in here?” my sister Emma asks.

“We are together. That is enough.” My father says. “There is no need for anything else. Even if the governments fall, or the Martians are defeated, we will always be together. That is enough.”

I feel my mother drift off into sleep. I can hear the soft grinding of her teeth. The irritating noise of comfort and rest. I feel my eyes grow heavy and lean into her. We will survive and be thankful for another day tomorrow, together.