Renee Moilanen Column: A growing Thanksgiving family

My first Thanksgiving in Los Angeles was a lonely one. My husband and I had just moved to this strange new city, and we knew no one. Thousands of miles away, our families were celebrating with plates piled high, feeling grateful for all the cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents around them to make the holidays feel like holidays. Meanwhile, my husband and I were eating defrosted turkey in front of the television.

It was the first time I’d been away from my family for a major holiday, and it was depressing. In that moment, I knew that if I was going to make a life for myself in a state 3,000 miles away, I would need to expand my definition of family.

In the following years, our holidays featured a grab-bag of guests. Other California transplants unwilling to brave the airports during the holiday rush. Friends from work. Random relatives who happened to be in town.

At first, the guest list changed constantly. I couldn’t predict what random person I might run into a few days before Passover Seder or which co-worker might be looking for a Christmas meal. It was an ever-changing cast.

But gradually, over the years, the invitations became more predictable.

I found myself reserving seats for the same friends, year after year, for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Passover, Rosh Hashana. And these friends have become an extension of our growing family.

They sat alongside my first son when he was just a baby, sucking gravy off his fists and smearing sweet potatoes around his plate. They were there when I was juggling a preschooler and a newborn and could only offer a pre-cooked Thanksgiving dinner out of the box.

Now, nearly 10 years later, they are there as my youngest son deftly spoons pumpkin pie into his mouth, aware – as I am – how quickly time flies.

A few years ago, my mother and brother moved here permanently, giving us instant family for our holiday gatherings. And more often, relatives from Florida are flying out. My mother-in-law began making regular trips for Passover. My grandmother comes for Rosh Hashana.

I always find room at the table. Yet their presence is inconsistent, and now it often seems, the relatives are the oddball guests.

Our friends have been there since the beginning, since before “Friendsgiving” was even a thing, when we just knew we wanted to be surrounded by people we loved during the holidays, and our friends made us feel loved.

At holidays, the drop-in relatives sit back and observe. My friends know the drill. They get there early because they know I start exactly on time and want everyone out by 8 o’clock. They know if they are going to offer to bring something, it had better be a salad, because I hate making salad. And they know that if I tell them not to bring anything, which I always do, they should ignore me and bring something anyway. Because that’s what family does.

I used to regret that my kids were growing up without the extended family I had, that our holiday dinners were small affairs without the chaos of siblings and cousins running around. But I’ve learned that blood does not make a family.

This Thanksgiving, our table will be small but overflowing with love.

Renee Moilanen is a freelance writer based in Redondo Beach. Her column publishes in print every other Saturday.