I hardly cooked all week long. One night we had scrambled eggs and toast for supper. Another night there was a hot dog roast at a friend’s house. And yet another night we had a sit-down dinner of caramel popcorn and apples and peanut butter. So high end, we are.

Here’s the bowl of peanut butter. A small child could drown in it.

I was mixing a big tub of whole wheat peanut butter (meaning, all-natural) with a jar of sugary store-bought peanut butter (so the oil doesn’t separate out as much) when supper time swung around, so I just plunked the whole bowl down in the middle of the table. The kids ate it by the serving spoon full. And they finished off a good six to eight (maybe ten?) apples and all but two cups of the popcorn. They were so full that no one even made mention of a bedtime snack.

What are your favorite snacky suppers? Or, “silly suppers,” as my husband grew up calling them.

This same time, years previous: brown sugar syrup (our standard syrup recipe)

In case you haven’t noticed (Google readers, I’m talking to you), I’m in the process of revamping the blog. It all started because I wanted some tabs along the top, and then once I got going I couldn’t stop. I went to over to my brother’s house for a crash course in computer junk (I’m so illiterate it’s not even funny) (except it is funny—my brother is forever laugh-snorting at all the obvious stuff I don’t know), and then I went home and stayed up too late doing formatting type things. I dreamed in (or about—not sure what’s the difference) HTML format and woke up exhausted. And eager to get going again.

Except I got waylaid by my header, partly because I lost the picture and couldn’t find it anywhere, and partly because I was ready for a change. I played around with sunsets and blue skies and it was all just so-so. On a whim, I jotted down my blog title and quote, snapped a picture, and suddenly I was off and running. The kids helped hold mirrors and white papers to reflect the light, fetch rosemary and sprinkle cocoa, and peppered me with advice and opinions. We never did get around to math or piano that morning.

Now I’m spending lots of brain time thinking up little new headers. I might get inspired to break out the paint, or maybe even do paper cutouts or make “Mama’s Minutia” out of bread crusts.

I will be the next Carl Warner. Watch out.

This same time, years previous: a moment of silence, classic cheesecake, love, the Tooth Fairy, boy in a blue dress

You guys made my day. You sent me love messages about pie, crooning the names—winter raspberry crumble, sweet potato, chicken, apple-cranberry, pumpkin, banana cream, lemon sponge, chocolate—in my ears. You hauled my sagging spirits right out of the mire, thank you.

So yes, there will be a party. I mean, There will be a party, yippeeeeee!  It will be a real, live affair with all of you jumping into cars and zipping over the Virginian country roads to my house for an afternoon of pie and coffee. There will be a fire in the wood stove and a blanket covering the violent hole in the sofa (peek at your own risk) and lots of kids underfoot. We will learn each other’s real names and attach faces with online personalities. There will probably be a bit of squealing and hugs. There will definitely be a lot of oohing and aahing over the pies. And then, of course, the eating. Oh, the eating!

If you’re too far away and still want pie, then don’t let the distance stop you. Make one! Better yet, take it one step farther and invite over some friends, preferably friends you don’t know very well but want to know better, ‘cause that’s what this party is all about, right? Whatever you do, be sure and tell us about it, okay?

About the pie: bring one, any kind. If pie scares you, then make something that doesn’t. This is not a competition, so there’s no point stressing out. If your crust is jaggedy or burned, or the pie juices boil over and dribble down the outside of the plate (and set your fire alarm to screeching), do not fret. And if, by chance, you set the pie on the floor of the van and your six-year-old accidentally steps on it, come anyway.

“Pie” is such a simple word, so small and unassuming, but don’t be deceived. The possibilities are vast! Let’s review the options. There are the classic fruit pies—apple, berry, etc—and the nut pies. There are the custard pies, cream pies, cheesecake pies, and ice cream pies. There are shoofly pies. There are meat and potato pies. There are vegetable pies. There are pizza pies and enchilada pies. There are pies with crumb crusts, gluten-free crusts, biscuit crusts, oil/lard/butter/Crisco crusts, cookie crusts, store-bought crusts, and pies with no crusts at all. There are hand pies, crostatas, pandowdies, and tarts. Basically, if it’s edible, it can be made into a pie.

Take it away, lovies. I can’t wait to taste your creations!

P.S. The details: Sunday, November 6 at 3 pm. Bring your families, of course, and make sure the kids have warm outside clothes—we’ll probably shoo them all out to the fort. RSVPs are welcome, but not required. Email me for directions. (For those of you traveling a greater distance, there will be a pot of soup simmering on the stove.)