The Space Between
EVERY YEAR I LOOK FORWARD to Thanksgiving, and while the actual day and meal itself are wonderful, that’s not my favorite part. For nearly an entire week, my family has the rare chance to be together under one roof at my mother’s home in Wisconsin. It’s that time—spent creating menus and shopping lists, cooking and baking, kicking back and laughing, eating and, well, eating—that helps the miles between us and the months apart fall away. It’s always a comforting and familiar sight to find my brother at the kitchen table in the early hours of the mornings. He’s no longer studying like when we were kids, but analyzing stocks, and the coffee is usually brewing and the newspaper is already there. It tickles both of us to see our little…