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My father leaned over and whispered, “Our Thanksgiving feast looks a little like a soup kitchen, doesn’t it?”

I laughed. Um. Interesting perspective… What was he noticing? Hunger? Lack of manners?

“Think about it.” He continued. “All kinds of different people, 60 of them, under one roof for a meal.”

Our holiday traditions continue to be a step away from what many might deem traditional. On major holidays, my entire extended family migrates to a small, country firehouse where we rent out their community room so we can stuff ourselves with gourmet foods we cook, under secrecy in our homes, lug to the hall under heavy cover, then unveil for the holiday feast.

We outgrew living-room-holidays many years ago. Luckily this hall has a fully stocked kitchen with all the necessities, including industrial ovens, dishes, the fireman’s oath and silverware.

I piled some shrimp onto my plate and sat next to a college ex-boyfriend’s wife.

“You didn’t come to visit the last time you were in San Francisco.” She laughed. “We read your writing, didn’t you think we’d know?”

I tensed. Cool-guy and I had just started dating and our love was new and we wanted to be alone. We went to the food show. We ate in every good restaurant in San Francisco. I had thought about calling…

She laughed. “It’s ok… but really, next time, call us, ok? We’d love to see you.”

“Ok. We’ll call next time.” I said. Oops. I’m single. I’m alone. I’m single. “I mean. I’ll call you next time.”

College-ex interrupted us. “Both of you…. Come see this sunset. It’s amazing!”

Too many heads turned as we followed College-ex outside, which annoyed me. His sister married into my family which makes him a bit of a relative, too. And. Even though our relationship ended with disdain and disgust at the end of my college days, my family will gossip about seeing us together for the rest of the year.

The three of us stepped into the twilight and were greeted by a sky patched with brilliant oranges and reds. The clouds appeared to magnify the colors and separate the brilliance into gigantic picture frames.

College-ex pointed to the sky, as if painting it for his wife. “That’s how the Hudson Valley painters always make their skies look. Alive.”

A friend of his gave me a hug hello. “It’s been fourteen years since I’ve been at one of these parties.”

I wasn’t surprised. People were always vying for invitations.

He gazed into the kitchen window. “I remember carving the turkey for them because they were mangling the poor thing.”

“You gonna carve again?” I asked.

“No. They enjoy mangling turkeys here, don’t they?”

“It’s a tradition in the Winter family.” I laughed. “You know we won’t change. We’re not movers or shakers.”

My cousin, Allie, joined the circle. “Speaking of which, your life in Denver sounds a bit annoying.”

“Yeah.” College-ex said. “I read all about your life in your columns.”

Allie stared into my eyes. “So. What exactly happened to Cool-guy?”

Four kids posing as Indians raced through our circle. What amazing timing. Changing the topic?

“You know.” Allie continued, “If I were you, I would have kicked him in the teeth.”

Ah. Yes. She knew. Knew he had doubted his love for me. Guess the “Winter Hotline” was in full working order.

College-ex turned to his friend. “Her boyfriend decided to search for his true love.”

“No.” I laughed. “No kicking in the teeth. He was driving.”

Allie sighed. “Then I hope you kicked him out of the car…”

“It was his car.”

“Yeah? Well.” She put her hands on her hips. “After a year in the relationship you should have kept the car.” She waved her hand in the air as she trailed after the Indians. “To heck with him.”

College-ex nodded to his friend. “I read all about this relationship. Camping trips they took. The traveling they did. I feel like I knew him. I kind of miss him…..”

A sister popped her head out the door. “Did you come to eat, or what?”

Platters of food. Two turkeys. Leg of lamb. Ham. I got that shivery feeling as I heaped my plate with delicacies. My family knows food. I always judge parties by the amount of food they have, and nothing ever compares to this. Nothing.

“Aunt Holly. Can you help me?” Four-year-old niece asked.

“Sure, honey.” I picked up a plate. “What do you want?”

“Um.” She surveyed the selection. “Applesauce. And bread. And. Um.” She walked back and forth in front of the entrees. “Oh. Darn it. No peanut butter. That would be perfect with the bread, wouldn’t it?”

Note to self: Keep favorite aunt status: bring Peanut butter.

She looked at me with a sparkle in her eye. “We need a fire truck break.”

I widened my eyes. “Now? BEFORE we eat?”

Her whole face lit up as she pushed her plate onto the table and grabbed my hand. “Just this once. I haven’t seen the trucks in a long time.”

We walked into the garage where the two fire trucks sat at attention.

“This is the big truck.” She said, dragging me right over to the most forbidden place first. The kids weren’t permitted to visit the trucks till the very end of the night. Um. Was she trying to get me in trouble?

She pointed. “Last time we climbed on onto the tippy top.”

“You did?”

She nodded slowly.

I smiled. “What was it like up there?”

“Well?” She shrugged. “You could see the whole world from up there. Wanna go?”

The whole world? I looked around the dim, narrow garage. Was the world really that different from the top of a fire truck? I wanted nothing more than a new perspective of my life. And my niece claimed to be the bearer of such a gift. Who could resist?

I smiled. “Let’s do it!”

She shook her head. “Ok. But. We have to be careful.”

She climbed onto the bumper just as we heard the voice. Her mother’s voice. Calling. Calling her. Calling her to dinner. Has anyone seen the youngest?

Niece read the disappointment on my face. “Don’t worry Aunt Holly. I’ll take you up there, next time. Ok?”

No problem. Not sure I was ready for any dazzling truths, anyway.

I’d settle for the gratitude of family and holiday cheer. And the relief in knowing that tonight these fire trucks wouldn’t leave the garage.

Now, that was one perspective I could handle.

Wanna try another column? How about #116 Diplomat for Foreign Students, which is about hanging with Peach-girl at the farmer's market.

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