Skip to main content

We're from "Jonkers"

Old Knudsen has suggested we write about some of our choice Christmas experiences--I've already done that.

So instead, I will tell you all about a memorable Thanksgiving. My husband and I had been married about five months and were living in New Jersey. We couldn't afford a trip back to the Midwest where the rest of our family would be celebrating, so we decided to stay put.

We knew a woman who was exceptionally generous, sometimes just because she wanted something and sometimes just because. She tended to collect strays, you could say, and assembled this bunch for Thanksgiving dinner like I have never seen. I hadn't learned to cook yet, so I was given the job of potato pealing.

There we were, two very young newlyweds; the woman and her four children; her Italian-emigrant mother who had the typical Italian/NJ accent; a newly divorced and very fractured woman with her three little children; two Cuban emigrants, a sister who had escaped Cuba via Paris and later retrieved her brother (the brother was wheel-chair bound); a one-legged Jewish woman who was also wheelchair bound (I loved her dearly!); and a clothing designer for JC Penney who was experiencing the most distinctive and thorough midlife crisis, one so counter to his character that his wife did not attend the dinner. He brought his adult daughter who was mildly retarded.

We all sat around this gigantic table made up of smaller tables lined up end to end, and we passed the roast beast. It was the most amazing group of people all in one room--everybody with their flaws out there for all to see. We sat there for hours chattering about this and that--me trying to have a conversation with the clothing designer who wanted to talk about a fantasy involving a chocolate cake and a bathtub, the divorced woman trying to hold it together, the Italian trying to understand the Cubans--The Italian would say, "where are you from?" And the Cubans would say, "We're from Jonkers?" "From where?" "Jonkers." "What are you saying?" "Mother, they're from Yonkers."

It went on and on, and it was the most lovely and memorable Thanksgiving I believe I will ever experience. Thanksgiving is a day when we purposefully express thankfulness for provision and relative bounty. As much as I appreciate spending it with family, enjoying this particular meal with a mixed up group of people you normally wouldn't have the chance to sit down with made so much sense.

It made as much sense as pilgrims, who risked everything to travel an entire ocean to find freedom, sitting at a table with a group of natives who helped them survive their first winter.

Comments

dive said…
Wow, Robyn.
You made me grin all the way through that post, and then tied it up perfectly at the end.
And what a group of characters! You've got your next novel right there.
Scout said…
I hadn't thought of this as the basis of a novel. It happened so long ago, I'd have to embellish quite a bit, the memory being a bit faded. Maybe that's a good thing.

I hate novels/movies when the characters and settings are so exaggerated--I'd have to watch out for that. Hmmm. the creative wheels are churning..........
dive said…
Perhaps a sitcom then …
Sassy Sundry said…
I was just thinking that you had a novel there too, Robyn. Jonkers, the long lost city.
Ms Mac said…
I left a good American friend behind in Australia (that's Australia for you) who used to celebrate Thanksgiving with us, her international coterie of mates and hangers on. I used to love celebrating Thanksgiving with her. The table was always huge and groaned under the weight of all the food and the company always exquisite. Good times!

I just wanted to share is all.
every couples of years I take my family to Maine for Thanksgiving. We stay at the Same guest house and have dinner with other folks from different places. Some are from New England and some may be from overseas. It's very unique to spend thanksgiving this way. I enjoyed your story
Scout said…
Ms Mac, thanks for sharing your story. Thanksgiving has turned into a big fat football day, but for most of us, it's still a time to real thanksgiving, even for people who know know who they're thanking.

Rich, what a great idea. So these people are strangers? How fun. Will you do go there this year?

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Birthday...

to me! Update: Since you have asked, I only got one actual packaged gift, a beautiful hand-made bracelet from a friend, but both girls were home for the weekend, and we had dinner at the lake and a relaxing weekend. Thanks to all of you for your lovely wishes!

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...