Can you see those houses in the back? They remind me of my aunt Marisca’s house, my mom’s sister in a beautiful village. The little house was by the green field with cows and sheep eating the grass. I remember my cousin Dorina and I walking there after a summer rain and picking mushrooms in a small basket. The air was crisp, the sun ready to take off his PJ’s and get into his playing shorts. Sometimes the shepherds’ dogs would see us, and we would run across the field with mushrooms falling over the basket. Aunt Marisca would make us eggs and mushrooms for breakfast, and crepes with cream cheese. That house is still there, but I haven’t see it in many years. My aunt is not young anymore, but her beautiful face is still young in my heart. I give thanks for her. Happy Thanksgiving, folks!