It is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I have memories of spending the evening peeling and slicing apples as my family sat around the kitchen table preparing apple strudel. It probably wasn't every year, but the tradition is so set in my mind that I remember it like it was.
We have not continued the tradition of apple strudel the night before Thanksgiving, although I still have hopes that as the girls get older we will. I don't even care for cooked apples, but the memories of Thanksgiving weekends past are full of so much joy in my heart that I would love to continue the tradition with my own family.
We are not in the kitchen mixing the scents of cinnamon with sugar and apple, but we are with family, and my husband is in the kitchen doing some Thanksgiving prep. The stuffing family recipe is well under way and the turkey is receiving its preparations for tomorrow. The baby is asleep after a long day with a short nap, and the two older girls are watching "Despicable Me" with their grandpa.
Spending time with family, that's what makes the holiday special. No, we are not in the middle of apple strudel central tonight, but this weekend, this holiday, these memories, they are just as sweet.