Once upon a time a long time ago in a far away land I had a sister who created Thanksgiving for our whole family in her lovely rambling house. There were children running up and down stairs, and there were pumpkin ravioli and tur-duck-en, and there was laughter over a book by Laszlo, and there was a walk down a big hill among fall leaves.

It was a rare Thanksgiving for our family, one with attention paid to the details, one that followed the cultural script only much less formal and a lot more happy.

I awoke thinking about that Thanksgiving this June morning, today the day after that sister's birthday, a day that sister is sitting in the rambling house with Arlene pouring a lot of water on top of her and her family. I hope that’s all Arlene throws at them, that they are safe and maybe even now still laughing over the coffee table Laszlo book.