For most people to whom I say these two words as my way of describing my Thanksgiving memories, I usually get one of two reactions: one of total disgust and recoil or a complete topic change. I'm really not even sure how this phrase originally came into my family's existence, but it simply refers to what happens right after all the family has partaken in our gluttonous Thanksgiving feast. The sweaty heap usually takes place in the living room or in the den with a television on tuned into some football game, but with the volume so low it's practically mute.
It starts with one person meandering out from the kitchen and spying the perfect sofa to stretch out on. Someone invariably joins them, so the first person on that sofa has to make room by adjusting and sitting slightly ajar. One by one, all the satisfied eaters are drawn together into this room, looking for any spot they can find, and pretty soon those who were just minutes ago so prim and properly sitting at the dinner table now look like a family of cats dangling their paws. A few doze off, but the rest who manage to resist turkey's powerful tryptophan begin to engage in relaxed, conversation that is always funny, casual, loving and real. Of course, there was never enough room in this one room for everyone, so many times people have to sit on others' laps, and I think this is how "sweaty heap" was born.
In my family, it's really not so much about the food but about the sweaty heap that was to follow. This is our tradition. We all stay in this room for hours, with family members going back and forth into the kitchen for more morsels of more turkey, maybe some more pie, or some of my mom's world-famous stuffing with gravy. I can truly say that out of all the 365 days of the year, this is the day that most of our communication and connection happen between us, for there is nothing else to think about after the meal except each other. I have memories of listening to conversations that made me laugh so hard I might cough up a turkey bone. I love this holiday because there are no presents, no costumes, no Easter baskets to fill...just a coming-togetherness that is surrounded by the preparation of a meal, eating the meal, and then finally soaking in the essence of each other that cannot be done to this degree any other day of the year.
When I think of Thanksgiving, my sense of smell takes over, and the smell I recall as a child is onions, butter and celery cooking in chicken broth over a simmering heat. One year I was upset that I could not have my own Thanksgiving meal in my own home (both of our family's live in town) that I woke up at 6 a.m. and sliced and diced onions, celery and put it all in chicken broth and butter just so my kids could wake up to that smell. I know that's silly, but for me, this is the quintessential smell that signals Thanksgiving has arrived, and I wanted so much for my children to experience that too, even if the main ingredient was missing.
This year, I look forward to our sweaty heaps and the joy and just plain simplicity of all my family sitting together in a room talking and sharing ideas that have been building for a year. We will talk, obviously, about all that we are grateful for, but peppered throughout these conversations will be dialogue that is filled with laughter, as well as some tears, as we reflect on those who are not here with us. We don't strive for "the perfect Thanksgiving," but rather the "Thanksgiving that is perfect for us." Who knows, maybe this year people will bring their own portable chairs.
Naaaaaaaaaaaaa.