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When I ask Vieira what she'd do if the time ever came when she wasn't a television journalist, she answers without hesitation, "I'd be a pediatric clown in the children's ward of a hospital." She did a segment about the profession on Today this year. "First, I observed the clowns in a hospital, and I thought, These kids are so sick, how do they do this? And one of the clowns said, ‘When you put on the makeup, you're the clown doctor.'" For the segment, Meredith, in clown makeup and costume, became Dr. Ditsie (a childhood nickname). "I forgot I was talking to sick children, and I had the best time. It felt so good. I made a difference and I got something out of it."
What Vieira brings to the table — the one in her gracious suburban home near the Hudson River that's shared by kids and husband, dog Jasper, and two cats, Felipe and Sweet Pea — are qualities that were well and wisely loved into being around her parents' table in East Providence, RI. Her mother, a homemaker, and her father, a doctor, were both first-generation Portuguese Americans. Vieira's three brothers — 10 years, 5 years, and 14 months older than she — probably helped determine her description of herself as "more of a tomboy than the princessy girl."
The hardest thing about the upcoming holidays, she says, is not having her parents at the table to share them. Her dad died in 1987, at 82, and her mom in 2004, at 90. Vieira lights up talking about them. "I was raised Catholic, but my mom was a real feminist who didn't like the male-dominated hierarchy of the church," Vieira says proudly. "She was tough about it. She went to church and was a believer, but she didn't like the trappings."
Dinnertime conversation at the Vieira home was long and lively, about politics and her physician father's work. "My favorite thing was when my father was asked to testify in court on a murder case. ‘If you came across a body like that, what would you think was the cause of death?' he'd ask me."
Although Vieira acknowledges that the holidays are stressful ("I'm always trying to outdo myself"), you feel her sincerity when she talks about how she considers Thanksgiving special. "There's a purity to it," she says. "It's only about gathering." That word, "gathering," comes up again when she talks about the Quaker girls' school she attended from the age of 2. (She's still friends with the same gang, and they get together once a year.) "Philosophically, I loved that idea of gathering together in silence, and then standing up and expressing your thoughts."
Vieira and her family spend the holiday with Richard's side of the family one year, hers the next. "We don't say any special grace; we talk about what we're thankful for," she says. Richard is Jewish, "though he doesn't follow any religion per se." He and the kids light the menorah at Hanukkah, and say the Hebrew candle-lighting blessings together. "I believe in God," says Meredith, "but I have spirituality, not a religion."
This year, Thanksgiving dinner is due to be at her house, the menu pretty much what it was when she was a girl. "My mom was a great cook. She believed in different china for every occasion. She'd be up really early preparing, with Daddy helping out, then we kids would get up around 8 and help. My dad's family would come, there was always touch football, and we'd watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade." (Vieira is expecting to host that very parade, for the second time, with Matt Lauer and Al Roker. "It's not mandatory," she says, "but I had such a great time last year!")
Turkey was the headliner at a Vieira Thanksgiving, of course. "My mom made a great stuffing and her gravy was the best. There were mashed potatoes and squash and cranberry sauce, the jellied and the other kind. We had yams, sometimes string beans, sometimes fresh peas. She made Portuguese sweet bread, which takes lots of time and which I never get exactly right, and she made a kale soup I don't even attempt. Rolls. Pumpkin and apple pie." One of Vieira's biggest regrets, she says, is that her mom's apple pie recipe got wet. "Now I can't read it — and she never measured anything. Gabe is the cook in our house. He always makes pumpkin pie."
The worst Thanksgiving? "We went to Richard's sister's house in Boston, and Gabe, who was 7, split open his knee playing soccer. I was so freaked out. I started taking pictures, just to take his mind off it. He ended up writing a story about it called ‘16 Stitches' and showing the pictures in class. That was one of the first times I thought, Something bad could happen. I'd never had a situation like that with one of the kids."
Appearing at Vieira's celebration this Thanksgiving, as they have for years, will be wooden figures, Pilgrims and Native Americans, that were a gift from her mother. "She gave them to me after we moved into our first home. Every year now, I put them on the table." Over time, she's added other decorations. "I can't help myself. My husband says, ‘Oh, please — not another turkey!'" She spreads these ornaments around the house for the holiday. "And our guests — family and dear friends — usually spend the night, so I'll decorate the table for breakfast the next morning."
I'm picturing the Vieira-Cohen circle, gathering, along with its four-legged members — Jasper, "who would carry the two cats around in his mouth when they were small," and those cats, trying to fill the pawsteps of the beloved Spike, who died in December about 10 years ago. "I really lost it over Spike. She meant a lot to our family."
The cat died in Ben's arms. "I took Spike from him, and Richard found me on the couch the next morning. He said, ‘The kids understood and went to bed, and you're still sitting here holding a dead cat.' We wrapped Spike in a beautiful scarf, and we had workmen dig a grave," Vieira recalls. "Nobody explained to them who the grave was for. They thought it was for Richard and made it way too big. We put ‘Circle of Life' on, and danced around it, and everybody wrote something for Spike and put it in. I spent hours filling in that grave."
The Spike story is vintage Vieira: funny and moving, with a journalist's eye for detail and a mother's eye for italicizing a pivotal life lesson that the kids will remember. I'm trying to decide if I'd rather be her best friend or her child when I hear her use the words "roots and wings." I think she's back to her Thanksgiving menu, but no, the phrase turns out to be what parents are meant to give their children. "I can't take credit for it," she says. "We heard it when our kids started nursery school. It's bittersweet." And delicious, and healthy. Just the sort of recipe that works best for Meredith Vieira.
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