I thought everyone knew that sauerkraut goes with Reuben’s sandwiches and not turkey. But the LOML has finally convinced me, as our third joint Thanksgiving approaches, that sauerkraut is as longstanding a tradition in the mid Atlantic as pumpkin pie. We agree on the pumpkin pie, which is great, since we don’t agree on potatoes. My Thanksgiving is ruined without sweet potatoes; he’s a mashed potato fan. We had a consensus on turnips – no place at our table. If mom makes the trip – we’ll have turnips — or it’s just not the meal she recalls from her Connecticut youth. My late father – a Kentuckian – only met a couple of vegetables he’d share a plate with; green beans made the cut. In tribute to the forty Thanksgivings we spent together, I’ll serve green beans. My daughter looks forward to my sweet three-apple cornbread dressing; my son-in-law’s day is incomplete without the oyster dressing of his South Carolina youth. I prefer gingerbread; Uncle Ben needs the Parker House rolls of his Manhattan boyhood to sop up his gravy. My mother-in-law likes my homemade cranberry sauce, but my father-in-law prefers the round, store bought, straight from the can slices. Fruit salad is now a must since more than one guest is vegetarian. One of the grandchildren eats only strawberries; another, this month, eats only pineapple but not if it’s been touched by the juice of other fruits. All of this means that our serving table looks like a fine Southern cafeteria.

And, lest it sound like a food fight, I must quickly add that Thanksgiving remains my very favorite holiday. With our remarriage, faces at the table have been added and the menu has expanded, flexibility has been learned and rewarded. We share old traditions in new ways: celebrating and giving thanks for family and friends and for all our blessings.

I gave up on trying to find a place at the table for the Texas turducken. When I began to explain that first the turkey was stuffed with a duck, even the grandchildren lost their sense of adventure.