My daughter asked me about nutmeg this thanksgiving 2015; I don’t know why she asked, maybe because I don’t put much nutmeg in my pumpkin pie and my daughter’s friend didn’t finish her pie. When I think of nutmeg, a picture comes up; everyone sipping eggnog by the fireplace, being told it is one of those things I am to eat and enjoy. I don’t think I enjoyed it.
We were living in a house with a huge open dining area, vaulted ceilings and a fireplace at the far end. The 8 of us sat on picnic style table and chairs, probably made out of plywood and cement blocks. We made origami on Christmas morning; I remember coming down the stairs seeing the container holding different sheets of colored paper and some animals already made.
We lived in a farm house with a pond we could ice skate on or slip and slide, surrounded by corn stocks and hills to slide down the snow with sleds. We 6 kids slept on the floor in sleeping bags and on New Years Eve 1969 he reached into my sleeping bag and touched me as no 7 year old girl should be touched. I heard the church bells ringing midnight, my dad is downstairs; somehow I know he won’t help!
Eggnog brought up a memory in my daughters mind; a family Thanksgiving dinner at my sister’s house. My sister offered her a glass of eggnog. I said “NO! don’t drink it!” My sister said, “she is in my house, let her try it!” My daughter listened to us argue and drank away!