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.)

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

This same time, years previous: deprivation, keeping my hands in the toilet, pumpkin-sausage cream sauce