Pie a Day Give Away

The romantic in me has had a hard time with that old Beatles song. Especially this year when I knew that number was coming my way. Even two years post divorce, it still made me wince.

As this birthday approached, I wondered how to celebrate in a way that would help me do it in a positive manner. After some pondering I came up with what seemed to be a perfect plan. I would bake 50 pies… and sell them and then give the money to victims of the recent fires in Southern Oregon. Brilliant, wouldn’t you agree?

First, I called my friend Kathy who, when I proposed this plan, immediately agreed to help me. How am I so lucky to have friends, who when I propose they work all day baking, for no pay, say yes. Saint Kathy also got permission for me to use a commercial kitchen at no charge.

Soon after, I began rethinking this plan. The logistics of the whole idea began to overwhelm me: getting donations of ingredients, asking friends to buy a pie, figuring the days to bake and deliver… And then I (finally!) remembered we are in a pandemic and knew I had to do something different.

As I mourned the demise of my perfect plan, a friend suggested I “just do a GoFundMe” as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Long story short, it was super easy. I shared my story… and asked my friends to help me with my goal of helping folks who had lost everything. And my friends showed up… big time!

My goal of $1,000 was met by day one. Then, two days after my fundraiser began, I had raised $2750 and I closed it down. With that money, I was able to purchase 55! $50 grocery gift cards for families that were greatly impacted by the fires. And, because I am a baker at heart, I made packages of cookies for all of those families too.

My heart is so very grateful to all of my friends who were able to donate, and also thankful for the friends who shared my story and got donations from people I did not know. It felt so good to deliver those gift cards and cookies knowing that they would help so many families. And the words that we scribbled on each gift card sleeve were simple and will hopefully let those folks know that they are loved: Dios te Bendiga.

All in all, I’d say it was one of my best birthdays ever. Thank you to everyone. I feel more loved than I can say.

And, finally, because this is a pie blog after all, I made a pie for Pam. She is the woman who is helping me with the tendonitis in my wrist. I am so grateful for your kind and healing touch.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

“Gratitude lifts our eyes off the things we lack so we might see the blessings we possess.” Max Lucado

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My beautiful mother, Eleanor, holding me while my Dad, Jim looks on.

Some of us remember dates better than others.  I don’t know why that is… but I have an idea.  When an event creates an indelible mark on your heart, to you or someone you love, it can be hard to forget.  Some of those events can be joyful such as the birth of your children, and others sad, as in the death of a loved one.

Well, this post is about the latter. Today is the 30th anniversary of the date that my mother succumbed to the cancer that she battled for 12 years.   I was a new mother and my baby girl was three months old when my mother passed away.  It was so strange to lose my Mom when I was just becoming one.  All the questions about parenting I never knew I had, would never be answered by her.

Since I had no mother to turn to, I often reached out to other women to help guide me along the path of motherhood.  The advice came from my Aunts, my friends, and sometimes complete strangers.  As they say, it takes a village, and if you don’t have a village, sometimes you create one.

One of my dear “villagers” was Irene Orselli.  She was my neighbor in Portland when Alexandra was a small child.  Irene never had children, yet, even so, she doted on my children as only an adoring mother could.  Irene got me, encouraged me, and inspired me.  It felt as if I was given another mother to help me and I will always be grateful for her love and support.

On this day of epiphany, I would like to recognize all of the women, and men, who have been a part of my village.  I am deeply in debt to you for your wisdom, guidance, and love.

Finally, please allow this proud Mom a moment to celebrate the release of my dear daughter’s first book, The Secret Joy of Hygge.  I’d love it (and be so thankful) if you would take a look and consider supporting her.

A Pear Kuchen for a friend.

“Losing a Mother doesn’t happen in a moment.  It takes years to appreciate the impact of what’s gone.”   Lisa-jo Baker

A pie for Alicia to thank her for reading me my forgotten shopping list!

Just recently, I embarked on a new endeavor.  If you had asked me if I saw this opportunity coming, even just a few months ago, I would have said no.  I would have said that this opportunity wasn’t for me… I’m far too emotional.  But standing on the other side, I think I might have misjudged myself.  In some ways,  I realize I have been preparing for this new position all of my life.

What is this new challenge you ask?  I am managing the culinary program at a home for hospice clients.

In my first few weeks, I have met many wonderful people.  There are the many volunteers who share their time and energy to help create a beautiful space for our patients both inside and out.  Then there is the staff who work tirelessly to keep our clients free from pain and as comfortable as possible.  And finally, I cannot express enough appreciation for the families and friends that come to spend time with their loved ones, often for long hours.  Their love is palpable and inspiring.

Stepping into this position was, to be honest, a bit scary.  I was worried about committing to a long-term agreement because I thought I would wash away from all the tears that I knew would come. Even the first week I started, I had a friend who was a patient in the house.  Initially, she had moved into the house for a respite from the medical journey she was on, but soon she made the very difficult decision not to pursue further treatments.

Some might think that she was giving up — but they would be wrong.  In her last weeks, my friend demonstrated incredible strength, grace, and peace and I was able to witness the beautiful expression of love from her friends and family.  This was an honor that I will always remember fondly.

What I have learned about my new position is that my role is not just to prepare food for our clients.  At times, I am finding ways to be a support system and friend for their loved ones.  Sometimes that is as simple as offering a meal or a treat to keep them going.  Usually, they don’t need or want much, but they are always so appreciative for having been asked.  This position gives me a way to help others and sometimes it is through food.  But often, it is simply to be present with love.

Finally, I would be remiss for not thanking the woman who asked me to be a part of Celia’s House (You know who you are!)  She recognized the strength and compassion in me that I did not.  And for that, I am most grateful.

 “We cannot change the outcome, but we can affect the journey.”  Ann Richardson

An Apple Pie for Lauretta and Uwe in Berlin.

When I was a little girl, I heard a lot of things from the adults around me that didn’t serve me well.  This phrase was popular, “Good girls should be seen and not heard (wtf?).” And then there were a number of phrases that began, “Nice girls don’t ………… (fill in the blank)”.  For me, talking back was not acceptable… and if someone said something mean to me, I was not permitted to stand up for myself.  Often I heard about the troubles the other person was having (marital problems, etc.) and was asked to be compassionate.  I was taught to care for others, but not myself. I was a nice girl… and I became a nice woman.

Well, it’s taken a long time, but I’ve decided that I don’t want to be nice anymore.   Here is the definition of the word nice: pleasant, agreeable, satisfactory.  Who wants to be referred to as satisfactory?  What a wishy-washy word (wishy-washy is defined as feeble, lacking in strength or boldness)!  There are a host of words that I would prefer to be called rather than nice, including but not limited to the following: courageous, strong, compassionate, funny, determined, loving, reliable,  generous, spontaneous, intuitive, passionate, even crazy.   But please don’t call me “nice.”

A few years ago, when my ex told me about his affair, he thought my response would be “I’m so happy for you.”  Clearly, he thought I was that “nice”.  A few days later, he asked me to watch a movie, and I agreed.  But instead of sitting with him on the couch, I stood and ironed his shirts.  Was I being nice?  Not at all.  I was doing something I knew how to do as I tried to figure out what had happened to my world.

While I might have wanted to dump manure on his lawn, scream at him in public, or toss his stuff in the street, I didn’t.  I was trying to be mature, dignified, and I was learning to walk with grace.  Truly, being nice had nothing to do with it.

In closing, I acknowledge that this post is a bit of a departure for me… I’ve shared more here than I have in a while.  My hope is that in so doing, someone out there may feel more comfortable sharing their story or at least they’ll know that they’re not alone.

Pie prep in Berlin… using a wine bottle for a rolling pin!

“When you write your truth, it is a love offering to the world because it helps us feel braver and less alone.”  Glennon Doyle Melton

Happy 24th Anniversary in Heaven to my sister, Nancy.   I wrote about that day in this post… and about Nancy here so I won’t go over it again.  I want to say I was so lucky to know her… we shared many happy times and many silly jokes. I miss her more than I can say.

Nancy with her two biggest loves… Jimmy and Wayne.

I’ve always loved Spring.  The flowers are blooming, the sun’s warmth returning, the fresh earth filling the air with its’ scent.  It’s all about renewal. Yet the reason we celebrate renewal is that things we love have died or gone dormant.  The trees that have shed their leaves, the grass that has died, the loved ones that have left us behind.

A few weeks ago, I remembered that a friend’s daughter had succumbed to cancer.  This happened in October while I was in Florida clearing out my Dad’s condo.  Her daughter had passed months ago and because I was busy with my own “stuff,” I did not send a card.  When I finally did remember, I sent a card expressing my condolences and my sadness for her loss.

I told another friend, who’d lost her husband recently, that I felt bad that my card was so late in coming.  She told me that it is never too late to send a sympathy card because grief does not go away quickly.  While others have moved on with their lives, the person grieving will still be “walking through the valley of the shadow”, as my pastor calls it. Simple expressions of sympathy are likely to be welcome for a very long time.

After my friend received my card, she got in touch with me and shared that she’d been unable to go into her kitchen to cook; it was just more than she could handle.  She asked if she could pay me to cook for her.  My heart hurt and so that very afternoon I baked her an Asparagus and Pepper Quiche and brought it up to her house.  I told her that since the next day was “pi” day, the “pie” was my gift.  She invited me in for what I thought would be a few minutes… but instead turned into a two-hour visit with her and her husband as they shared their story with me.  It was an unexpected moment of grace… and for that, I am truly grateful.

When faced with the enormity of a friend’s loss, we can feel powerless… because we can’t fix what went wrong.  And while that is true, what we can do is visit with the one who is grieving and bear witness to their pain.  We don’t need to find the right thing to say.    What our friends need is to tell their story and for us to listen.  At times, they may need you to hold them as they (and maybe you) cry.  Just being with them is a precious gift.

In the Jewish tradition, the act of being with a person in mourning is called ‘Sitting Shiva.’ During the period of Shiva, mourners sometimes sit on low stools or boxes while they receive visitors. This is where the phrase “sitting shiva” comes from, and it is a practice that symbolizes the mourner being “brought low” following the loss of a loved one (Shiva.com).

Can you relate?  I sure can.  When grief has hit me, I have felt like my legs buckled underneath me and found I was unable to stand.  It takes time to find ones’ bearings after a great loss and I love that friends join the mourner in sitting low… recognizing the blow that’s been dealt.

At this time, I send you all warm wishes for a beautiful Spring (and Easter or Passover) and encourage you to reach out to friends who have suffered a loss.  If you can, offer them something tangible.  Perhaps you can mow their lawn or clean their gutters.  Maybe you can bring a meal or bake a batch of cookies… or a pie.  And, please, just sit for a while with your friend who is suffering.  It will make you both feel so much better.

“So it’s true when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” 

E.A. Bucchianeri

On a completely different note, this happened!