I have a lot to be thankful for.   My kids, husband, work, friends, family.  Health, home, neighborhood.  In an increasingly nervewracking world, my little corner feels very safe, and I am aware of this daily.  Daily.

Last night, I was trying to explain “the story of Thanksgiving” to Lew, who is now 4.  Hemming and hawing through a version of “pilgrims and Indians” I attempted to preserve the tradition and message, but also correct for our current understanding of American history.

Lew looked up at me, puzzled,  and said, “Indians?  You mean Native Americans, Mama?”

I laughed.

“Yes, Lew. Native Americans. But also pie. We’re very lucky to have pie.”

Lew agreed.

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