From the kitchen window, I heard the companionable sounds of my pre-schooler Claire and her best friend playing in the sandbox. Their relationship could be tumultuous, so any time they got along was a little blessing. I was making dinner—I don’t remember the meal, but I remember the era. It could have been anything from eggplant parmesan (the year we went vegetarian) to stuffed pork chops (the year we raised a pig).
I reached for…