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First properly cold morning, so the trà gừng is back. My mother's way: a thumb of fresh ginger sliced thin, simmered ten minutes, then honey and a squeeze of lemon once it's off the stove. It goes into the big thermos for the school pickup line, where I wait with both hands wrapped around the cup. While it simmers I recite Nam mô A Di Đà Phật on my mala, ten recitations for every slice of ginger. By the time the tea is ready, so is the busy part of my head. The twins say the car smells like Bà Ngoại's house. That's the highest praise they have.

Amitabha in the pickup line

The school pickup line is twenty-two minutes of idling, so that's where I chant now. Nam Mô A Di Đà Phật, quietly, prayer beads looped over the gearshift. Yesterday the twins climbed in mid-chant and my son asked if I was talking to the car. My daughter, very seriously: 'No, she's calling the Buddha of Infinite Light so he knows where we are.' I couldn't have explained Pure Land practice better myself. She's seven.