Years ago, we were sitting around the dinner table one night when Brian and I got to talking about our Moms' pumpkin pies. I was telling him how good my Mom's pies were - that I could still taste them. He said, 'My Mom's pumpkin pies were awesome too.' 'Yes, they sure were,' I recalled fondly, 'they were different from my Mom's but I grew to really enjoy them, even though I'm not much of a fan of pumpkin pie.'
Back and forth, the conversation went - recalling the texture and the spices and the whipped cream. "My Mom's pie...", then "MY Mom's pie...". One of the kids piped up and said: "Well, we've never even tasted OUR Mom's pumpkin pie."
Sad, but true. They haven't. I have never once in my life made a pumpkin pie. Never. Ever. No pumpkin pie memories for an entire generation. Shame on me.
Actually, I don't make any pies. Except for when I am in Newfoundland. There is rhubarb growing in front of the house and partridgeberries behind it. I use Brian's grandmother's recipe for both and I must say, it kind of tickles me to make a pie out there. Seems like the thing to do when you've got fresh and free fruit growing at arm's length.
I'll eat pie; I just don't make them. I have convinced myself that they are just too much work for the length of time that they last. When I make something that takes a lot of effort, I like it to last for years.
So today ... 10.10.10 ... at 10:10 AM - what was I doing? Something out of character and totally memorable. I was making a pie. Three pies in fact! Lemon meringue, chocolate cream and banana cream. THREE pies. That's more pies than I have made (other than rhubarb & partridgeberry) in the past ... hmmmm.... ten years. And I'm not exaggerating - ask my family; they'll tell you.
Ten, Ten, Ten at Ten:Ten AM, I was making pies and at EXACTLY Ten:Ten PM on Ten, Ten, Ten, I am posting about pies. Insignificant for everyone else in the world - memorable for me!