Walk Home Together

This is THE DRESSING recipe. My gift to you via my Nana who passed away several years ago but not before writing this down in her neat grandmama penmanship. This is DRESSING, not stuffing. It does not go in the bird. Don’t come at me with stuffing under any circumstances because it is disgusting and un-Southern.

Anyway, of course you don’t follow the recipe exactly. She liked hers *moist* and I do not. I leave the poultry seasoning out entirely and double the sage. Or triple the sage. Basically a hay bale worth of sage is what you need. She agreed. I use fresh but you don’t have to. It helps if the cornbread is a little stale. And yes that’s Stove-Top sneaking into this otherwise from-scratch recipe. Don’t judge. She certainly didn’t.

That’s the quality I admired the most in her…she didn’t judge. Anybody. She didn’t mindlessly gossip and she didn’t have a sanctimonious bone in her body. She was completely genuine and unambiguous in what she said, and didn’t say. In her presence I always felt accepted and understood and unconditionally loved. That’s not to say she was perfect; nobody is. But in my eyes she was close.

I only saw her feathers get ruffled a couple of times.

Once she was absolutely furious with the cashier at Winn-Dixie for being condescending to a young mother who was confused and embarrassed trying to use food stamps for the first time. I remember this because her anger was so rare, and because I always wanted to know what she said to that cashier. But she wouldn’t tell me.

Nana had perfectly set, frosted silver-gray hair thanks to a standing appointment at Fountain of Beauty. Usually a baby pink blouse and crisply ironed jeans. Sparkling white Keds, always. A beautiful, open, eye-crinkling smile.

Her only vices were cigarettes and the National Enquirer. She read lots of other things too, but the “Enquier-y” was a guilty pleasure. And occasionally, so was a Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler, over ice with a straw. She was happiest in her home, reading or puttering about, with WLWI on the radio. I can relate to that.

I always felt peaceful and completely safe in her presence, but I didn’t appreciate it when I was younger or understand why I felt that way with her. But I knew she was special. There was no pretense or agenda. Just love.

I hope this Thanksgiving you cook from recipes passed down from people who loved you like that. And may we remember to love our people completely, exactly as they are, just like she did.