Dr. Norman Vincent Peale wrote, “A basic law: the more you practice the art of thankfulness, the more you have to be thankful for.”
This time of year is full of memories for all of us. The holiday of Thanksgiving is family-centered, and Norman Rockwell made sure we didn’t forget it. The singular focus is on the attitude of gratitude in our home and the blessings that we have; they are too many to name. Jehovah has truly been gracious.
I learned this song in elementary school, and it still murmurs in my mind during this season. Perhaps you are familiar with it and wish like me that another trip to grandmother’s house would be just the thing.
Over the river and through the woods,
To grandmother’s house we go;
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh,
Through (the) white and drifted snow!
Over the river and through the woods,
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.
Over the river and through the woods,
To have a first-rate play;
Oh, hear the bells ring, “Ting-a-ling-ling!”
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!
Over the river and through the woods,
Trot fast, my dapple gray!
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound!
For this is Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river and through the woods,
And straight through the barnyard gate.
We seem to go extremely slow
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river and through the woods,
Now Grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie.
I was born at Roper Hospital in Charleston, SC and went home to 128 Wentworth Street. My parents lived in an apartment below my grandparents’ apartment in a stately, two-story house for a couple of years.
My memories of that house are brimming over with fun. There is a curved, mahogany staircase between the two floors that I used to travel down in a sitting position, squealing all the way. Perhaps you have this kind of bumpy ride in your childhood history, too. The wide and empty downstairs hall was a playground for my dolls and me in bad weather, and I raced my tricycle from one end to another.
On a whim I looked up the Wentworth Street address on the Internet the other day. It is still a stately lady.
It was built in 1840. The realtor showed pictures of my grandparents’ apartment with the tiny kitchen, where I learned to drink coffee, laced with plenty of milk and sugar. I have sat cross-kneed in front of that fireplace and opened the French doors to the porch to reach the sunshine. Soap bubbles used to fill the claw foot tub, and I tried to swim in it.
This is the living room where Critt and I used to sleep on pallets in front of the fireplace when visiting our grandparents through the years. Those floors are still stunning. The two doors lead to the porch where Nanna used to hang her clean laundry for the morning sun to quickly dry. Looking up and down the street were other balconies adorned the same way.
I wonder if my love for history started in this house of large rooms, high ceilings, and an oversized hall. There is an ambiance to historical buildings and sites that embraces me today, and perhaps those feelings originated at a young age.
Thomas Wolfe declared in his book, You Can’t Go Home Again that “Some things will never change. Some things will always be the same. Lean down your ear upon the earth and listen.” I like to listen to those impressions.
What a gift it is when memories of the past can keep up with the present. With some family holidays around the corner, maybe you, too, might enjoy a look backwards, as I did at 128 Wentworth Street.
We will make new memories next week around the dining table I remember my folks buying for my childhood home. I can remember Nanna and Granddaddy sitting with us there for the holidays. Four generations have broken bread together there.
Marcie spoke truth to Charlie Brown when she said, “We should just be thankful for being together. I think that’s what they mean by Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.”
Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family!
Sheila Ingle 