I spent Thanksgiving 1963 at the western Connecticut home of a college friend, the first holiday away from my family. One memory has stayed with me of that weekend. As I helped his mother in the kitchen, getting ready for the big meal, she explained that “here in New England it’s traditional to have turkey for Thanksgiving.” She went on to detail all the also-traditional dishes that are served with the bird. She knew that I was from the wild Midwest and must have felt an obligation to educate me in the ways of the civilized world.

I can still see that 18th-Century stone farmhouse, the lovely old silver (which she used every day, giving it an almost golden patina I’ve never seen in silver-kept-for-good), and every room furnished with, not what we Midwesterners called antiques, but the very chairs and tables and four-poster beds her ancestors had filled the house with.

But there memory fails. In realizing that was November 1963, just days after President Kennedy was assassinated, I try to bring back what we must have been talking about, the one subject that was on everyone’s mind. Instead, I remember being told that New Englanders eat turkey for Thanksgiving, and that silver used every day is beautiful.

Holidays, especially Thanksgiving, I think, with its focus on a single meal — no presents or stockings, no special music (except for “We gather together…” from grade school) or decorations (if we exempt the turkey hands and Pilgrim hats) — is a good place to test our memory muscles.

Try to remember your Thanksgivings. My earliest was probably 1948; I was four, and we’d recently moved from Chicago’s South Side, my mother’s home territory, to just north of my father’s Evanston. My paternal grandmother wasn’t the Thanksgiving-dinner-cooking type (I don’t believe we ever ate a meal at her home), so we drove the 30 some miles to Nanny and Da’s apartment at 79th and Cottage Grove, traveling along the Outer Drive, that snaked along the Lake Michigan shoreline.

I see my little self, sitting in the back seat unrestrained (of course), forehead glued to the glass, not missing a minute of the unfolding scene. I remember the Wacker Street drawbridge just north of the Loop, and the times we had to wait for a ship to pass through while the bridge was up. That, and bickering with my little brother in that back seat, are about all I can bring up of childhood Thanksgivings.

A much later holiday meal, which could have been Christmas, but I can’t be sure, stands in as our family’s seminal holiday fiasco. The imposing dining room table, set with crystal and china and candles, a gathering of family and neighbors and friends, when my 18-year-old self announced so all could hear and understand, “I’m a bastard.”

Oh boy. I got the attention I wanted. To be clear, I think I’d only recently figured out the truth behind my adoption story, the wording prompted by the agency’s social worker so many years before; tell her “your parents loved you, but weren’t able to take care of you.”

Imagine, being 18 years old before getting it: they weren’t married! At least, it was a more innocent time. And in his shock at my announcement, my dad gave me a small, but important piece of information about my birthmother — the town she was from — that would eventually, 18 years later, lead me to her family. Too late to meet her, though, as three years after that Thanksgiving, she would die under tragic, perhaps preventable circumstances, in Phoenix.

There are other vignettes from other Thanksgivings, those snippets of memory most of us carry around.

One year we had a duck, one of our own, for dinner and a partridge that Wally shot, and our neighbors, Lou and Myra Polan, joined us; Myra remembered that crispy duck for the rest of her life.

One year we ill-advisedly drove to Washington, D.C., on the Wednesday before the day, and spent about five hours trying to get over the bridge in Wilmington; a son and daughter-in-law were in the back seat, he listening to a David Sideris tape over and over again until we wanted to kill them both.

She was the smart one, because with a history of car-sickness, she’d taken enough Dramamine to knock her out for the entire trip.

The Thanksgiving my father remembered the rest of his life wasn’t the year the bastard announced herself, but the one in Lincolnville when we ran out of gas and had to cook the turkey in the wood stove. He’d had a romance with Maine all his life going back to his 13th summer when he stayed in West Gouldsboro. This was one of our early years here, and he never forgot stoking the stove all day long until the turkey was done.

 Thankfully, he didn’t seem to dwell on the November night, Thanksgiving night as it happened, the year of the duck-and-partridge, that Wally and I left Myra and Lou in charge of our two little ones, and traveled through a driving rain to Waldoboro. At Moody’s we met Dad and my brother, who were bringing Mom, hopelessly depressed and apparently senile, to a nursing home nearer to me, one of the saddest days in our family’s life.

Gleaming silverware. A lifted drawbridge. A shocking announcement. Endless David Sideris. My dad. Sure, I’ve got more of these, and I’ll bet you do, too. Single memories that taken together make up the holiday — Thanksgiving. Maybe it’s just as well we don’t remember all the details.

 A few weeks ago I traveled to Boston for a college reunion; well, OK, it was my 50th college reunion. Remember the weekend when the alumni returned to campus, especially the really old ones with walkers and canes and hearing aids? We wondered what possibly could have brought them back to what was so obviously our world. But then, by some magic of time, you find yourself part of that 50th reunion class, and you understand.

Only six of us turned up from the class of 1964, where we’d all been fast friends at that all-girls, junior college. For two years we’d lived together with 16 other girls, in the same house, most of us away from home for the first time, and from all over the country: Chicago, Texas, Hawaii, Tennessee, San Francisco, Pennsylvania.

We six had a lot to talk about, and talk is about all we did that weekend. But most every memory one of us brought up was greeted by “when did that happen?”, “who were you with?”, “I don’t remember that!”

I’m looking forward to really old age when, I hear, childhood memories return 

Kim Jackson at the Town Office reminds us that 2015 dog tags are in. Dogs that are six months old or older must be licensed, and those licenses have to be renewed annually by the end of December. You can do this either at the Town Office or online; current rabies certificate is required and a spay or neuter certificate if applicable. The fee is $6 for spayed or neutered dogs and $11 for those that are not. State-mandated fines kick in after the December 31 deadline. If you have any questions please feel free to call the Lincolnville Town Office at 763-3555.

Town Administrator David Kinney tells me that the position of camera operator is still open. This paid position involves recording evening meetings, twice monthly selectmen meetings, twice monthly planning board (though they don’t always meet twice), half a dozen budget committee meetings mid-winter, and quarterly harbor committee meetings.

Contact David, 763-3555. Tidewater cable subscribers can watch the meetings real time, and they’re also preserved on DVDs at the town office, available for anyone to view.

Those who either attended Town Meeting last year, or who studied the budget, know that the selectmen proposed live streaming these meetings, which would then be archived.

A search component would make it possible to view, say “tax abatements” at a given meeting, meaning you wouldn’t have to sit through a two hour meeting (DVD or online) to find the one thing you were interested in.

As a noncable customer, I thought this was a great idea. Since the meetings are already recorded, this would just make them that much more accessible and convenient for people to follow town government. Unfortunately, the 100 or so who attended last June’s Town Meeting didn’t want to spend the $3,000 it would cost to set up, and then the $500 or so yearly maintenance of the program.

If this seems like a good idea to you, call a selectman and say so.

Hard to believe, but it’s almost time to light up the town Christmas tree! In fact, the lights are already on it thanks to Richard Lermond’s bucket truck, Dave Kinney, Brian Cronin and Rob Moore who worked at cutting away at least 3 or 4 old strings of lights, and then installed new lights provided by the Lincolnville Improvement Association.

Christine Buckley is busy organizing the party held the afternoon of Christmas By the Sea, Saturday, Dec. 6, 4 p.m. with caroling at the Beach, followed by the community Christmas party at the L.I.A. Andy Young and a crew of fire builders plan to collect wood and start the bonfire earlier in the afternoon.

Volunteers are welcome; contact Andy at 323-1334. Other volunteers are needed to help with the ornament making on Tuesday afternoon, Dec. 2 at the school, making sandwiches Saturday morning, decorating the L.I.A., and baking cookies for the party. Christine could use some people to help with the party and with clean-up; email her or call, 230-4618. This is a free party for the families in town; bundle up the kids and come down to the Beach. Santa arrives at 4:30, then goes up to the L.I.A.

     The Lincolnville Central School Parent Teacher Organization (LCS PTO) is holding its 12 th Annual Wreath Sale, Thursday, Dec. 4, 1-7 p.m. or until they sell out. These handmade wreaths are $20 for a decorated wreath, $15 for a wreath with a red bow, and $12 for a plain wreath.

Jessica Andrews of the PTO says: “By purchasing your wreath from us, you will have one less holiday chore to take care of later, AND you will be supporting The LCS PTO!  Whether you prefer plain or fancy, we’ve got the holiday greens to deck your home or business. Free delivery is available for large orders of six or more, and alternate  pick up arrangements may be available by contacting Jessica Andrews  by 11/28/2013. The LCS PTO is proud to support local small business with this initiative!”

     This Sunday, Nov. 30, 9:30 a.m. at United Christian Church, Susan Silverio will be reflecting on the 150 mile pilgrimage she and her husband, Jack, took from Porto, Portugal, to Camino de Santiago in Spain this fall. All welcome.

     Sympathy to the family and friends of Virginia Thomas who passed away at home last week. Virginia was involved with the Lincolnville Women’s Club for many years, most recently as Chaplain. Memorial gifts in her name can be sent to the LWC’s Scholarship Fund, c/o Marilyn Pendleton, 217 Slab City Road, L’ville, 04849.

     The television tells us it’s “Shop Locally Saturday” this week. There are many small businesses here in town, if you really want to stay local. I’ll boldly start with our own, Sleepy Hollow Rag Rugs.

Stop by and pick out a rug, a knitted hat, beaded jewelry, or play it safe and give a gift certificate. Check out the Advent Calendars, “Waiting for Christmas in a Maine Farmhouse”, that I made for our sons long ago: $10 each.

We’re open daily by chance; call ahead if you’re coming from a distance: 789-5987.

     Next, how about finding a piece of art at Dwight Wass’ Lincolnville Fine Art Gallery  at the Beach?

Dwight writes: “The Gallery represents seasoned Maine artists, painters, sculptures, pottery and jewelers. Jill Hoy, Kathleen Mack, David Larson, Richard Kaprald, Bill Hallett, Renete Caraballo, Marie Bickford, Wally O'Brien and many other well known Maine artists.

“Please stop in for a visit and support our fine stable of working artists. We’ll plan to be open weekends thru the holidays Sat. and Sunday noon to 5 p.m. and 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. weekdays.  Call 789-5000 for a private showing or for an appointment.”

      A few weeks ago Sam Mudge was looking for help harvesting his corn and put a notice on the Lincolnville Bulletin Board (LBB). Take a look at this video made by his partner, Aube Giroux, of that day for her PBS-sponsored blog.

And coincidentally, Sam and Aube’s Grange Corner Farm is the lead article in the latest Maine Organic Farmers’ Association (MOFGA) newspaper. Check it out.

To be included in This Week in Lincolnville, contact Diane, ragrugs@midcoast.com with events, family milestones, wildlife sightings, anything to do with our town.