I remember the dinner's at my grandmother's house as a little girl.
There would always be olives.
A jar of the green ones with the red things in them. (Back then, I had no idea that they were pimentos.)
And a can of the black ones that were totally perfect for stuffing on the ends of tiny fingers.
I don't think my mother approved.
Yep, the holidays were about the olives... and the cranberry sauce. And my grandma's cookies.
The olives were always spooned into pretty little glass dishes - sometimes pink glass, sometimes blue glass, sometimes the glass with the cut out designs.
By the time I was old enough to remember any of those holiday meals, I was the only child in attendance.
The fall out of being the youngest grandchild.
The upside of this was that there wasn't a kids table - I was the only kid. Although, I do remember a time or two having a table all to myself in the other room.
Sadly, there are no more meals to be had around my grandmother's table.
And these days, the holiday table may or may not include olives.
A few of those little glass dishes of my grandmother now reside in my cabinet - making their way out on special occasions. Sparking memories of days gone by - and with it, a smile.
Dressing up olives the day before Thanksgiving seemed oddly appropriate.
As I toasted the spices and then warmed the herbs, garlic and spices up in their olive oil bath, the thought crossed my mind that these weren't my grandmother's olives.
Time moves on.
The new and old weave together to create a new life tapestry.
I am grateful for both.
This post participates in French Fridays with Dorie.