It’s Thanksgiving here in the United States, and I’m trying hard to count my blessings.

Several years ago in my Thanksgiving post I wrote: “As is true of all the best traditions, it is always the same and always different.” My first reaction when I read that was “Not this year. This year it is not the same.” And yet, perhaps, it is. It is still about reaching out to families—those we were born into and those we chose. About creating a feast that celebrates the fruits of the harvest, whether it is turkey for forty or squash risotto for two. About giving thanks.

For several years, I’ve made a daily practice of writing down five things I’m grateful for as I wait for the water to boil for my morning cup of tea. Over the course of this difficult year, I let that practice drop. That was a mistake. Because taking a moment to be thankful is even more important when things are hard.

Earlier this week, I started making my gratitude list again. (And checking it twice.) One thing I’m grateful for, whether I’m making my list or not, are those of you who read History in the Margins. You share my posts, send me comments and ideas, ask hard questions, point out the typos, and cheer me on.  Without you, I’d be talking to myself.