I sit here looking around the room, searching for an idea. I want to write, but I cannot seem to find that idea that just must be made into a story that people (I have to assume there are people out there) will read and maybe emit a chuckle during or after. Sometimes I run from the couch to my writing chair and cannot not start and certainly cannot stop typing, the idea is so anxious to be set free. Other times, like tonight, I read through notes and look around the room (if it was daylight, I would maybe even take a walk and see what sparks) and often decide to play Dark Dimensions Mahjong instead. But now, here I sit, fingers working the keyboard, with little in the way of result.
But wait. There sits a photo of my sis holding a pumpkin pie that is missing one giant piece. She has a Meryl Streep smile and is clearly delighted with the results of her baking efforts. This pie thing and my sister go back quite a long time (sorry, Sis, but it is true that you do go back a long time–longer than me, anyway). I used to have daydreams about opening a bookstore and people would come to browse all of my books and then sit down to a cuppa and a slice of Sis’s pie. I actually never did ask her if she would want to bake pies all night and day so my thousands of customers could sit and read and savor wonderful pies and stories. But, since I never did open that bookstore, I guess it doesn’t really matter. I am surrounded by books at home, and because my sis really really loves me, I always have pie for my birthday (yes, sometimes a little late, but still). My favorite birthday pie is pumpkin, but my favorite all the time pie is peach.
With pumpkin pie, whipped cream is required. Peach pie requires vanilla ice cream, and maybe a bit of whipped cream on top (no cherries). Blackberry peach pie is not too bad either. I could go on and on, but I won’t. I just want to say, thanks, sis, for that pie. And that other one, too.