lost in translation

This morning, while I finished packing for a short visit to New York City, Lil’bit asked if we could please tour the abbey on the island. I was so confused, “What abbey?”

She declared, “Where people lived.”

“I still don’t understand what you are asking.”

“Where people went who were sick and people who worked there were mean and the lady snuck in and wrote about it,” she explained in clear frustration.

“Oh! You mean the asylum grounds on Roosevelt island. Yes. We’ll try to visit.”

“Try hard.”

My child, travel task master.

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