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Last year I explored the Thanksgiving traditions of New York City (read: the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade) and Connecticut (read: a train ride, and sweaters and wine by the fire), and I came to a few conclusions:

1. There is something to be said for watching the parade in your PJs on the couch, where the only person blocking your view is dear ol' Dad when he stops in front of the TV to say, "Ughhh...turn it!"  2. The Connecticut suburbs of historic white-washed houses with backdrops of huge trees of orange and gold may look like the idyllic fall setting, but 3. a northern Thanksgiving dinner that features salad, cold, hard green beans, and dressing stuffed with I-don't-know-what, makes a wandering southern girl long for her Mama's casseroles of broccoli and sweet pa-tay-tas!

Now I can't claim any specific family traditions I wished I was home for last year, unless you count our shouts from the couch for Mama to "Come see!" from the kitchen whatever float, balloon or Rockette during the parade, only for her to rush in to the den in time for the screen to change and miss seeing it.  Maybe we could count as a tradition all the Thanksgiving decorations Mama so loves - her pilgrim man and woman, the beautiful ceramic turkey she painted one year, the Thanksgiving-themed spreaders, to name just a few.  Another almost-tradition is the Indian girl head Elizabeth made in elementary school using a reshaped wire hanger, pantyhose stretched for the face and construction paper for a feathered headdress.  For some reason that thing stayed in the pantry (of all places) for years, awaiting its flourish through the kitchen each Thanksgiving Day.  

Making my way home this year, as I lugged my suitcase from one flight, to the next, to the next, I realized there was one thing I couldn't wait to see, and I wondered if maybe this was our greatest Mummert Thanksgiving tradition.  Years ago, using folded index cards and colored pencils, Elizabeth made the most creative yet simple place cards.  We laughed to see what she had chosen to draw for each of us, and joked at the novelty of having place cards for just the five of us, who sat in the same seats every year anyway.  Those cards were saved, and pulled out of the drawer again the following year and again the next.  Suffering a few gravy stains, Elizabeth redrew them a few years later, using a bit more care and matured colored-pencil skills, now knowing these would be seen year after year.  

I don't know how much thought Elizabeth put into choosing our Thanksgiving caricatures, but I've always thought the drawings represented us fairly well:  

Daddy the patriarchal and Mama the matriarchal pilgrim and Indian figureheads; Julie a cornucopia surely because several decorate her house,  all of them painstakingly hand made by her, at that; Elizabeth as the turkey has always perplexed me, I would have chosen an Indian baby in (what is probably her favorite Native American-related word) a papoose.

Our outdoorsman Chris gets the trees and squirrel, and our sportsfan Gabe appropriately gets the football turkey.

And me, Rebecca, the little Indian girl, who I've always liked to think of as Pocahontas, poking through her surroundings and discovering something new to marvel.  

I Googled "Pocahontas" today to find facts about her that might relate to my personality, further linking my place card to me.  According to Wikipedia, she "became a celebrity during the last year of her life." I'll take celebrity, but I don't want it to be in my last year.  "She was a daughter of Wahunsunacock who ruled...the Tidewater region."  I'm a daughter of a Crimson TIDE fan. Hmmm, still not a convincing enough link.  

But a few lines down, my answer came: "After her baptism, she went by the name Rebecca."

"But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger,

You'll learn things you never knew you never knew."

~ Colors in the Wind from Disney's Pocahontas