Meditation on Thanksgiving Pie
Instead of the usual weekday routine, on the day before Thanksgiving, my morning reflections are inspired by the baking of pies. I creep downstairs to a quiet kitchen, put on the kettle for tea, and open the refrigerator to remove the pastry dough I made the evening before and carefully wrapped to chill overnight. Before peeling and cutting the fruit, I reach for my phone and open the app for our local NPR station. The news is grim. Mass shooting. Again. This time in Virginia. Just days after the one at Club Q in Colorado. Guns, I think, are as American as apple pie. But pie shouldn’t be tainted by senseless murder. I turn off the news and put on the new Taylor Swift. Nope. A podcast. Ugh. None of it is right. Restless, I lean into the quiet and let the silence speak as I pick up the paring knife and get to work on the apples. Lime green gets all the attention, but the peel of a Granny Smith is a thing to behold, as bright and crisp to the eye as its flavor is to the p...