Dear Blog Reader
I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. Today
finds me with nearly a full stack of wood, a brief respite from the cold
weather and family starting to congregate getting ready for Thanksgiving. These
are good things. I am blessed.
This weekend is the start of big doings. It is the first of
two big doings. The lovely Miss Beverly has been enlisted by my side of the
family to make pie. You may have seen the Instagram last evening proclaiming
success. As I stepped into church, this morning the ringing of praises filled
the
sanctuary. “Bev is so gifted at making pie.” “That pie sure looks good.” “You
are so lucky to have that Beverly making you pies.” That last guy’s wife didn’t
seem quite as pleased at Bev’s giftedness. I may have been reading her body language
incorrectly, but I am pretty sure that holding a rolling pin wielded menacingly
above the head is a sign of displeasure.
Pie making is a good thing to be gifted at; to enjoy, to
have in your wheel house. People know this intuitively. Pie is good. Pie is
great. Everybody wants to eat pie. More importantly, we want to eat good pie. Sure,
we will eat cheap pie. I will eat the $3.79 eight inch pumpkin pie. I will eat
it gladly with 3 heaping serving spoons of whipped cream smeared over its 50.2
square inches. Measuring pie in square inches often confuses me; pie are round
not square. It confuses me until I think about 50.2 square inches of whipped
cream enhanced pumpkin, and I get over it.
We will all eat that $3.79 pie from that gourmet pie shop
called Target, but we won’t ever say that the Target pie fairies are gifted.
Spiffily dressed maybe, but they are not gifted pie makers. We know what gifted
pie making tastes like, and it doesn’t come from a box from Target. Good pie
crust is flakey with a stick of Crisco cut in. The crust is thick but not too
thick. The filling is chilled before it is poured in the crust. Go ahead and
put an extra dash of sugar in the pecan and an extra pat of butter in there too,
take that extra time to brush the egg whites on the top crust of the raspberry
pie.
We do rely on the lovely Miss Beverly’s giftedness. She
always comes through. It is a good thing too. The dessert counter would have
been pretty bare without her six pies. And as we all said on the way home, “that
was good practice for Thursday.
Speaking of practice for next Thursday, anticipation is
building this year. Everyone coming to the Hoover feast is holding their
breath. It is the two year anniversary of Mini Max’s triumphant seven honey
roll binge at T-giving two years ago. You can read all about it in the November
26, 2012 blog “Wish you were here.” It was an epic battle of boy against
honeyed yeast goodness. A case where grandpa Doyle would have said “don’t let
your eyes be too big for your stomach” in good hearted teasing. And the boy
would have responded “don’t worry grandpa. I got this.”
Things were tense for a moment. The seventh one causing a
bit of sweat to break out on his forehead; swallowing hard; crazy uncles and
cousins balancing on that thin line between encouragement and too much
encouragement. But he did it. He ate all seven and kept them down. He even had
a strong enough pancreas to secrete the insulin needed to metabolize all of
that sugar. We were all impressed.
Now as the rematch between boy and food approaches,
questions abound. Is 11 year old Max as good as 9 year old Max, or has he lost
a step to the ravages of age? One would think that his stomach has not stopped
growing. Surely, it is getting bigger. But what about his heart? Has his drive,
his determination, that certain something that separates the greats from us
mere mortals, has that stopped growing? Can he eat his age in honey rolls? Next
Thursday around noon, Max will sit at a table piled with platters of food. Will
he focus on the rolls or be distracted by the noodles? They are both tempting
starches; both comfort foods. Time will tell.
His fan club will be there in full force. I hope that there
is time to make a banner. "Go Max Go. Eat Those Rolls. Eleven or Bust." Aunts will
cheer. Cousins will howl with laughter. And Uncles will "throw up" their arms in wild exultation and experience a moment of
self-congratulation for keeping another piece of Bev’s magic pie for themselves.
Take care.
Uncle Roger
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