Facebook informed me many moons ago that it had been 10 weeks since I had been “Active.” I couldn’t decide if it was a warning or a congratulatory note. In any case, I have reaffirmed my social media and blog status and in case you are wondering, this is what I have been doing…it involves pie.
We rented a lake cottage 12 miles from our house. That means we can bring two cars, three coolers, a dog, two dazed New Yorkers, several comfy chairs, and rafts to float on said lake. Basically, The Clampets go for a swim.
Directions included: Take a right on the dirt road that has the big clump of River Birch, then another right at the Daylilies and follow the lane until you see either the water, a hammock, or a pot of Geraniums that need watering (hint hint).
Main entertainment on vacation: Floating on rafts tethered to the dock while sipping libations during the day. At night, baseball on the radio, jigsaw puzzles, and pie.
This is affectionately referred to in my house as, The-Calm-Before-The-Storm-Vacation.
Daughter gets married. Initial plan for quaint, small, inexpensive, City-Hall… takes a full throttle turn into a three-day affair.
I decide that this is the wedding Olympics and I am the Host country. You know, every team needs to be fed, needs a toilet, needs the dreaded gift bags. We will have a parade of elders and college friends and people whom we didn’t expect to respond “yes” to the invitation. They will carry flags of fresh linen tablecloths, and trailing behind will be a stunned assemblage of photographers, florists, musicians, bartenders and waitstaff. They will enter the stadium with banners proclaiming allegiance to bride or groom. They will pass by the over-flowing glassware, the hand made favors, and a decadent three-tiered confection adorned with locally-sourced florals.
I take full responsibility for this. No one else will. It will take weeks to recover as we head into: The Holidays…
It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without Mom’s mince pie. Just sayin’. The Holidays this year, much like the wedding, began zen-like enough and turned into a three-ring circus. We have decided to rename the family Christmas party, The White Knuckle Affair for the inevitable and interminable horrible weather we all face (along with our own demise) each and every December en route to the party.
My husband (The Great Geographer), and our son (the Great Cartographer), have designed a new plan for next year. If we put plot points on a map around New England, our family’s homes would come close to plotting a circle. So, we’ve decided to offer to the group that we meet at a designated parking lot in a central location. We all back our vehicles into the middle, open up the trunks, and simply exchange the gifts and food, wipe the fresh ice and snow from our eyes and vehicles, and white-knuckle it back home. Perhaps one of us could offer to bring a grill and pretend we’re at Gillette? I am open to suggestions.
There’s lots of pie but we are limited on how much time we are given to eat it. Dig in. Say yes. Make 2018 count for something…and let me know what kind of pie describes your day or your most recent event!