I can hear the drip, drip, drip of the rain outside the partly-opened window. Like a slowly falling bed sheet, a thick cloud has enveloped our valley. The three little, white votives on the kitchen table have all burned out. There’s just one red candle flickering now, but I can’t see it because a basket is blocking it from view. The granola is resting in the now-cool oven. Its sweet oaty smells have long since dissipated in the gloomy air.
I have a bad case of the munchies, but it doesn’t have to do with hunger. Sloggy days like this, I crave the jolt of tongue fireworks. When I woke up at 5:30 (thanks to the over-sized five-year-old who mysteriously materialized in our bed and then thrashed about like a blasted octopus), I could sense it would be one of those days where I’d be tempted to overeat, so I fixed myself a filling breakfast of jacked up oatmeal with chopped apples and walnuts. Happily, it worked, but I’m still feeling dull and mushy.
There is a little flowered vase filled with lavender sitting on my kitchen table. The flowers (with two pink roses that have since given up the ghost) were gifted to me by one of the donut party attenders. I keep staring at it, hoping its delicate prettiness will give me a lift.
Mr. Handsome says I’m suffering from the donut party letdown. He might be right.
Then again, he might be wrong.
What’s the fix for days like these, huh? Hot chocolate? (Maybe.) A jog in the rain? (Blech.) A good cry? (Too much work.) A thick novel? (Already have two going.) Plan another party? (Perhaps.)
I’ve been thinking about another party, actually. The idea has been banging around in my head for quite some time. But it makes me a little nervous. Because I’d be inviting a bunch of people I’ve never met. See, um, oh geez, how do I say this? I’d be inviting, um, well, I’d be inviting …. you.
Wouldn’t it be fun (and quaint and odd—my husband’s adjective of choice—and charming) to have a pie party? You do like pie, right? If I had a pie party, would you come? You’d have to bring a pie, that’s all. And then we’d sit around and chatter about all sorts of things and sample lots of pie and go home stuffed. It’d be rip-roaring fun.
But I worry. I worry that this blog is too small to do something this bold. Julie did it, but she’s a big-time blogger; I’m just a wee little thing. And I’d be mighty sad if no one showed up. In fact, I might be so sad I’d quit blogging all together. Because if no one comes to my pie party, then clearly, no one is reading my wee little blog, right?
So, maybe not? Oh dear, I don’t know! I love pie and I love my readers and I love blogging, but, but …. maybe it’s assuming too much? (Psst, this is where you’re supposed to jump in and pat my back and croon, “Of course I’d come, lovie! I make this kick-butt lemon meringue…”)
Working my way out of the quagmire,
a pie-loving me