The snow fell gently on the lawns of New England, heralding the onset of another white and frosty winter. Every year, the wind gusted down from the north and carried a biting chill through the coastal regions which, just weeks before, had been resplendent with the brilliant colors of fall foliage and the energy of bustling crowds. But the northerly wind, predictably, like clockwork, overcomes the iconic glory of New England autumn and brings the season to its end. Trees shed their fiery coats, small animals burrow into their hidey-holes, and the locals shroud themselves in layers of wool and retreat into the warmth and safety of central-heated homes.
Cindy gazed out her kitchen window at the first dusting of snowflakes on the street. There would be no visitors this Thanksgiving, even if the weather had been perfect. The weather man blared on the television in the corner, warning of the coming storm. Not that it was really necessary—anyone with half a weather sense knew to stay home on a day like today. She plunked her frozen turkey onto a broiling pan and then stopped, appraising the slick pink surface of the naked bird thoughtfully. Maybe this year, she would improvise a little. Without the in-laws visiting she could cook the turkey any way she liked, make the bread stuffing with raisins the way her mother used to, even make the mashed potatoes lumpy the way she had always preferred them. After all, who wanted to eat potatoes with the consistency of baby food? Cindy was likely the only one who would taste it, so there was no pressure for her Thanksgiving dinner to “turn out” this year. In fact, it could be almost fun to see what she came up with when the pressure was off. Having resolved to make the best of her situation, Cindy picked up her coffee mug and walked back to the window. No visitors with a storm on the way, even if she’d had someone to invite. A small consolation, but true nonetheless.
A loud thump followed by shrill voices startled Cindy out of her reverie. The Waltons, who lived in the apartment next door, had a boy and girl still young enough to shout, run, and jump just for the fun of it. Normally Cindy didn’t mind the Walton kids’ noise and bustle, but today their joyful celebration reminded Cindy too much of opportunities lost. A more soothing voice, recognizable as the ever-patient Mrs. Walton, speaking slowly, brought the children’s enthusiasm to the front door where they were quiet for a moment before Cindy saw the children emerge, bundled in colorful hats, scarves, and mittens to frolic and play in the first, and most exciting, snowfall of the year. They looked so happy.
Cindy’s heart contracted. It would be a long time before any of those dreams came true for her. She shook her head and went back to planning her feast. Maybe she wouldn’t make a pie for Thanksgiving this year—maybe she would make a cheesecake. It wasn’t traditional, but it was her favorite. And as long as she had things to cook, things to bake, Cindy didn’t have to think about the fact that she was alone on Thanksgiving. Sure, she could have found somewhere to go, to a colleague’s place, or a neighbor’s. But she had quietly avoided telling anyone how she planned to spend the holiday, didn’t give them a chance to feel sorry and turn that look on her, that silent, pitying look she had seen so often since Mark had stormed out last month. Well, it didn’t matter. Maybe this was a holiday that other people spent in big groups, but this year, Thanksgiving would be a holiday just for her.
Cindy flopped her recipe book onto the table, pleased to see that it still opened to her mother’s cheesecake recipe. Long ago, she had started this book to record all the secrets of her mother’s kitchen, and this cheesecake recipe had been her inspiration. Scanning the ingredients, Cindy realized she would have to make a quick trip to the store. After all, who stored multiple packages of cream cheese in their refrigerator? She cast a wise eye towards the wind and snow coming down outside and glanced at the clock. She might just have the time to get there and back, while the turkey was thawing and the snow was still just drifting down.
A west-coast girl to the core, Cindy slipped into her fleece jacket and hiking boots for the trek to the grocery store. These New Englanders might choose to wear multi-colored scarves and stylish boots, but Cindy was a pragmatist. Why wear all those layers and fancy things when you could stay just as warm in a simple jacket? Her front door stuck again, as usual, and she had to really tug on the thing to get it open. She chuckled to herself again thinking about the irony of her front door—there was a literal challenge to stepping out the door every day, to taking that first step. What was that verse from the Lord of the Rings? “The road goes ever on and on/out from the door where it began.” Well, this was going to be the door where her road began, and in this mood she had no idea where it might take her.
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