We took a non-traditional approach to Thanksgiving this year–we celebrated a day early. It felt almost as realistic. By the end of the meal, we talked at the table, wondering how all that preparation ended in our stomachs in just under 15 minutes. We swiveled our near-empty glasses and lingered in our seats as long as we could to enjoy the moment.

After a year fighting cancer, it felt a bit vacant without our friends and family–had you been there it would have made the day complete. But we went to bed wishing each other Happy Thanksgiving all the same.

So when we woke up Thursday, it didn’t seem odd to wake up without the smell of turkey roasting in the oven or the anticipation of the arrival of our guests; for us it was already the day after Thanksgiving. Instead, we packed our bags and headed north.

And when we stopped at Cracker Barrel for dinner, we pondered the limited menu: a Thanksgiving meal or breakfast? We chose breakfast while the other diners ate their Thanksgiving meals, of course.

We got to our hotel in Boston, tired enough to be grateful to fall asleep in our uncomfortable beds. Time to say goodnight to our non-traditional Thanksgiving.

Whatever non-traditions happened this year and this Thanksgiving in particular, we made up for it when we woke up in Boston. We found ourselves steeped in tradition. Talk about going back in time, even in the rain, though snow would have been more appropriate. As someone pointed out, “if it looks old, it is old.”

But all that’s old fashioned wrapped around us in Concord when we visited the home where Louisa May Alcott wrote “Little Women.” Though off the college visit circuit, Skylar wanted to go and it made sense to go thirty minutes out of our way to get there.

Even though I never cared for “Little Women.” Mom made me read it when I was in 4th Grade, saying it was one of the greatest books of all time. (It turns out it’s never been out of print since the day it was first published).

But I cried when Beth died. How could Mom have said that was a good book when there was such tragedy?

Mom explained it was about the sisters and Marmee and their love for one another. But I didn’t understand. I was upset that the book had to be so sad. And the Dad was gone through it all.

But then I got inside the home of “Little Women” and I got swept away by the tour guide and her stories of the Alcott family and their love for one another, I couldn’t imagine sitting and writing at the tiny desk Louisa’s father built for her in her room, and by the time I got to Father Alcott’s study, I had tears running onto my mask. A bit embarrassed; I never cried on a tour before, luckily, I looked up and saw another woman crying, too.

I finally got it. Louisa wrote based on truths in her own life–she wasn’t making up the sad parts. She lost her sister, Beth, who died before the family moved into the cottage where Louisa wrote about it in “Little Women.”

But Louisa also wrote to financially support her family just as her sisters and mother had to come up with ways to make extra money. Their Father was a professor and he wasn’t as concerned about finances as he was about philosophy and values.

Despite his flaw, which ironically gave the women independence in a radically different world, he instilled in his daughters to be responsible for their behavior–the same principle he taught the children in his schools: all care for all.

For example. the youngest sister May (Amy in “Little Women”), was a great painter largely due to the training she received with Louisa’s money. Her paintings line the walls of the house. May’s idea of giving back was to give art lessons to the local kids in the studio her father built for her. And one of those kids grew up and became quite famous when he sculpted the Abraham Lincoln memorial in DC.

So here we come to the part of the tour where I cried. After his great success, the sculptor always gave credit to his first art teacher, May. And in her honor, he sculpted a bust of Mr. Alcott, which still sits in his study.

It must have been the way the guide told it.

But in Louisa’s honor, May named her baby after her sister and her dying wish was that Louisa become the guardian of her six-week old daughter. Louisa cared so much for so many, so how joyful that she ended up on the receiving end of all that love she had given.

What stories of caring, love and small acts of kindness that withstood the test of time. It makes me remember all the love that I received from you over the past year. Just the other day I went to put my cross on again and there was another cross on the chain with it. Where did that come from? I couldn’t remember, I wished I could. But then my friend saw it and said, “I’m so happy to see you’re wearing the cross I gave you.”

Somehow the Alcotts found a way to pass on the love and caring they received and give it to the future so now we’re in on their secret, too.

Sometimes life is sadder than fiction; sometimes, life’s more authentic and vibrant. And sometimes all we need is to go back in time in a new way and take a visit to the Alcott’s home.

What an old-fashioned message to hear at Thanksgiving in such a new-fashioned way–all care for all.

Just in case you care to take a visit and can’t get there in person: https://louisamayalcott.org