When I woke up and walked into the kitchen I knew Thanksgiving was coming soon. That’s when I saw light bread lined up on the counters, on top of the bread box and on every other surface.

It was the ‘50s and a sure sign we’d have dressing to go with a “big fat hen.”

Momma didn’t care much for turkey, unless somebody gave one to Daddy, and even then she got a chicken so she could use its broth for the dressing, and for the gravy.

By the time I got married in 1962, I was allowed to bring the relish tray at Thanksgiving. Momma didn’t trust me with much more than that because the only thing I could make before marriage was cornbread.

By the 70s, and a second marriage, I’d added carrots to my relish plate. Then when we moved to Hennessey in late 1978, I also took cinnamon rolls. I bought them at the Parker-house Restaurant.

They had great pies, too, but I didn’t dare take one to Mother’s house because she was the Pie Queen.

She always got up early to make the pies: pumpkin, pecan, cherry and coconut cream. Then after she got to know, and finally like, my second husband, she started making his (and her) favorite: lemon meringue.

Momma was always just taking the bird out of the oven when we got there and had her iron skillet full of butter, onions and celery for the dressing.

She added sage to the chunks of white bread, then the onions, celery, an egg or two, and some cooled chicken broth. Then I couldn’t believe it, but she’d taste the raw dressing.

Momma would talk and listen to me while she whipped white potatoes, checked on the sweet potatoes while the green beans and gravy bubbled on the stove.

When she made a Miracle Whip dressing for an apple salad that only she ate, I realized how effortless cooking was for her.

She asked me to get the cranberry sauce out of the ice box while she took the homemade yeast rolls out of the oven at just the right time then told me I worked and worried too much.

“Wonder where I got that?” I asked.

Years later when Momma was unable to make Thanksgiving dinner, and I had no idea how to bake a hen or turkey, my son stepped up and made the bird, and the gravy, and the hot rolls. Oh yes, he also brought the white potatoes and said he left some lumps in them so they’d be the way I made them.

I managed to pull together the rest of the meal: green beans with bacon and garlic salt, dressing and hot rolls that I baked after I thawed the frozen dough. Then remembered my husband’s sweet potato and put one in the microwave.

I also opened a can of cranberry sauce.

“Thanksgiving isn’t complete without cranberries.”

That’s what Momma always said when she screwed the metal grinder to the kitchen counter, and let me turn the handle to grind the cranberries.

I still use the Ocean Spray whole berry canned sauce, and I’ve made cornbread dressing for years, though I might slip in a little bread.

A late-Czech friend told me she “dolls up” Stove Top stuffi ng mix.

I’m sure Momma would approve, especially the microwave method. She was always into short-cuts and even admitted that she used Bisquick instead of making biscuits from scratch. “But don’t let your Daddy know,” she said.