Mrs. Teabody Recalls a Wrong Number

In just a few hours our house will be filled with friends and relatives just like houses all across America and, God willing, we will all sit around a table enjoying our iconic menu with noteworthy variations. Taking center stage will be the bird, of course. It may be brined, naked, ready to carve or served ready to eat. Stuffing. Mash. Gravy. Noodles. You know the drill. Theme and variations. 

At our house when we sit down at the table, we will all join hands and in that circle of Thanksgiving, we will share at least one thing we are grateful for and we will note the absence of so many we have loved and still love and remember.  A good thing.

There's one little family story that inevitably crops up--a story about my mother and her indomitable cheerful spirit. It goes like this:

My mother Dorothy lived in a world of hard work interspersed with short spurts of coffee drinking and conviviality. She had the warmest personality and a ready and loud laugh. A few decades ago on a Thanksgiving Eve several of the family were sitting in her kitchen when she popped up from her chair, cigarette in hand and headed for the little triangular shelf that has always held "the phone."
"I'm calling Dorothy," she announced. (VERY big deal as this other Dorothy lived in Huntingdon and this was a LONG DISTANCE call. Remember those? She dialed the rotary dial which whirred after each number made its connection. She took a puff from her cigarette. We could hear the receiver being picked up and a distant voice saying "Hello."
"Ya got your turkey stuffed?" my mother asked without preamble.

Try to imagine this. Your phone rings and a voice just randomly asks, "Ya got your turkey stuffed?" What would you do? What do we all do now? Push a button. Put an end to it. Talk to a stranger? No way.
"Who IS this?" the voice asked
"This is Dorothy Henry in Clear Ridge. Isn't this you, Dot?"
"Who are you calling?" By this time my mother realized she had a wrong number. "I was calling Dorothy Henry in Huntingdon."
"I thought you said YOUR name was Dorothy Henry," the voice replied.
" I did. I am. I think I dialed a wrong number. I'm sorry."
"I think so, too, but that's okay. And yes, my turkey is stuffed."
Both women laughed.
"Well, you have a nice Thanksgiving and I'm sorry I bothered you," my mother said in her kindest voice.
"You, too," this anonymous stranger answered ending the conversation on a civil note and my mother placed the receiver back in its cradle.
"She was a nice person," my mother announced, stubbing out her cigarette and smiling.
My mother had just managed to turn a mistake into a triumph. No "I am so embarrassed" or "I almost died of humiliation." No. Not her reaction. Not about HER. About another human being. "She was a nice person." Subtext? Like most people are. Even strangers.

It's the kind of lesson that sticks. Be kind to everyone--even a wrong number. God love you, Mom. I miss you. I am so thankful I grew up at your table. I'm thankful you had such an open heart. 

On this day take a few moments to remember, to let gratitude enter your heart and  do share love and stories. Happy Thanksgiving!