June 18, 2014

The Cherry Pie

 "It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, 
and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, 
and what is done in love is well done." 

There was a list of things- some written, and some only remembered- of all I wished to accomplish before I turned 30. Lofty goals and hopeful suggestions of the girl- the woman, I suppose- I would become when the calendar reads September 18th and my twenties fade out like the porch light at dawn. I don't think I have reached any of them.

But today, I baked a pie.

I'm still six classes away from earning a degree.

But I measured, tapped, and swirled the flour, salt, and baking powder together, a cloud of white dust in a white bowl.

I'm hopeless when it comes to reading music well or learning aperture and shutter speeds, and I'm still very far from the trip to England I've dreamed of since I was little.

But I cut in the chilled shortening and dribbled the ice water into the crumbs, just how my mama advised.

Sky and I have such a long way to go before happiness.

But I looped the apron over my neck and tied it around my waist. I sprinkled the soft flour over the table, then smoothed it around the wooden rolling pin. I slowly poured the cherries tumbling into a patchwork crust, covered them with the other crust, and made a wavy zig-zag around the edge with my thumb and finger. I used a fork to make tiny holes like I was perforating a dark sky with shining, scattered stars. I closed the hot oven door, and opened it fifty minutes later to a yellowed, crumbly, sweet-smelling pie.


I can't cut hair, change a flat tire on the side of the road, start a lawnmower or weed eater without thinking bad words, pick out a pair of glasses I like longer than a week, fold fitted sheets, make an efficient grocery store trip without running through the aisles for something forgotten, or learn how to let go of past hurts.

But I can sew up tears in treasured stuffed animals, and pull the weight of a red wagon and two babies behind me. I can make imperfect birthday cakes, kiss sore knees, and exclaim bright praises of finger paint pictures. I can brush hair into curly pigtails, read library books twenty times over, and find pacifiers that were tossed behind cribs. I can buy a tablecloth and candles for his party and only cry a few tears, and I can assure her that it's her turn next and she'll have presents, too. I can weigh the dreams I have with what is truly important, and let a few of them flutter away, while holding on to the ones I value and will remember when I am eighty five and reliving these precious days.


And I can bake a pie.

10 kind comments from you:

Jen said...

You are amazing my friend!!

reccewife said...

<3

valinohio said...

And.... You can write AMAZINGLY, ACHINGLY beautiful words, straight from the heart........
Much love from Ohiooooo!
Val

Jenn said...

Your writing is amazing. It looks like your baking skills are top-notch too. xo

Sidnie said...

You can bake a pie.

Yes. This. There's always something we can do to heal the hurt, to prove ourselves, to move forward.
Prayers to you, as this life is hard and there's no way around it but through...

Keep going, friend. Keep going.

Mrs.B said...

And your writing is so personal and beautiful.

JG said...

This really touched me today. (the end of my 20s is in October)

Michelle said...

This might be my favorite thing you've ever written.

greaterexp said...

Oh, you writer, you! You express things so beautifully! And, by the way, you'll get all the important things done - the really important. Your pies, literal and metaphorical, will get better with each try. Your life will be filled with too many successes to count.

Fran said...

You can bake a pie.

And you can write better than anyone I know.

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