It Begins
Jennifer Elliott • March 22, 2024
Thanksgiving 2023
And now
It begins…
Family
Football
Fresh turkey or frozen?
Feasting
Fixins’…all of them
Friendly phone calls
Feeling full
Films at the movie theater
Friday comes
Finding a parking spot
Fueling the economy
Fishing out ornaments
Frocking the tree
I can’t think of any more “F” words.
Well, on second thought, maybe I can.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Jennifer Elliott Copyright 2023
Every summer I try to visit the place where I grew up, the north shore of Lake Tahoe. I realize now what a unique experience it was to grow up there. Charming, with its small-town feel, the mountain peaks surround the beautiful crystal blue lake covered with wooded forests and ski resorts carved into them- and alpine-style cabins. I hold the first property we lived in – in my mind - cradling it with special affection. The memories unfold. It was a small house next to a smooth pebble-rock beach. The beach was public. The 900-square-foot house was originally a drive-by food stand for the 1960 Olympics at Squaw Valley (now called Palisades). They sold loads of hot dogs to passersby. The shop owner lived upstairs and the original kitchen was all aluminum. Then converted, our family moved in. While tiny, the house seemed big to me because I was only just over two years old when we moved in. We all slept upstairs in the finished attic with slanted ceilings. The stairs to the attic bedrooms were wood and steep. I remember this because I once tripped and rolled down the staircase cutting my lip.
It’s impossible to think of any good meal, no matter how plain or elegant, without soup or bread in it.
Growing up in Lake Tahoe in the 70s, there were few cultural experiences to be found, so to fill this gap, we frequently visited San Francisco on the weekends. It was in San Francisco that I was first exposed to real culture: art in museums, classical music, the ballet, and Broadway shows. Our family ate Chinese food in Chinatown, finishing the meal with fortune cookies. We were required to dress up, which was always a treat. Cable cars, the smell of both salt air from the ocean and roses from the flower stands formerly stationed on the corners at Union Square. I always looked forward to staying in the high-rise hotel or the bed and breakfast, which were just becoming all the rage. The Golden Gate Bridge, Lombard Street, Ghirardelli Square, Pier 39, Golden Gate Park, and Alcatraz. And I can even remember the very first Cost Plus Imports store (now World Market) on Fisherman’s Wharf.
The Resident Guest Shuffle, shuffle, tiny shuffles Flat feet, tiny shuffles, penguin-walk with bulky shoes. San Francisco Luxury hotel Resident guest at valet parking. A very old man wife dripping designer, Saint Laurent cape, inside out- label exposed. “Where is the car? My husband called.” “Yes, Ma’am. It’s on its way.” In it splashes, bright shiny red Ferrari F12 Berlinetta DMV plates taped to the window Used car, but new to him. Old man. Old money. Car turns off. Valet hands the keys. “Thank you.” “My pleasure.” A very old man, once tall now bent over. Shuffle, shuffle, tiny shuffles Flat feet, tiny shuffles, penguin-walk with bulky shoes. How will he drive? Is he able? Is it safe? Wife gets in – wine bottle in hand, a birthday gift for host. Valet closes door. “My pleasure.” A very old man, once tall now bent over gets in sports car seat. How he manages, I’m not sure. Vroom, crackle, barks the car. Catching the nearby motorhead’s ear. He puts it in gear. Old man – Oh wow! Look how he goes a red streak on Market Street Jennifer Elliott Copyright 2023
