As best I can remember, Mother never really had any major hobbies. She gardened a little. Read Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Sewed some. Cooked your basic Southern fare. But she has always liked pie. Fruit pie, cream pie, pecan pie. Her favorite breakfast was leftover pie with coffee.

Fortunately, Publix bakery has lots and lots of pies, including small, personal pies which quarter nicely. We buy blueberry, apple, Dutch apple, peach, and sometimes apricot. I’m not sure she can taste the difference anymore, but it makes my happy to offer a variety.

And now, she asks for pie after every meal except breakfast, since breakfast is always cookies.  And when I say “asks”, I really mean expects and demands. And she is very disappointed if I let us run out of pie.

I serve her dinner first, so she is generally finished with her plate before I am with mine, and lets me know she’s ready for pie in a variety of ways.

“Do we still have some of that good pie?”

“I’m ready for my pie whenever you want to get it for me.”

“Do you want to get me some pie, now?”

“I want a BIG piece of pie!”

And sometimes, she just looks at me, fork in hand, and says, “Pie! Piepiepie!”

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