A couple days ago my mom and I were talking on the phone, like we do a million times a day. Usually it’s just “what’s happening with you, how’re the kids, so-and-so is doing who know’s what” convos. This particular day’s chat was mostly working out the logistics of The Day, the Feast and the Bird.
Sarah planned the menu, scouring books and websites for the perfect recipes. She did most of the cooking, with me just helping out with a few trimmings.
Naturally, as dessert lovers, we had an assortment of pies. The mandatory Pumpkin, and with a nod to our Floridian roots, some cool, tangy Key Lime, along with an Apple Crisp, blended from Sarah’s own recipe.
Out of the blue, while we were talking, Mom shared a tiny little treasure I never knew, she mentioned that as a girl, her mom, my Grandmother, always made her a Raspberry Pie for her birthday. I never knew. I would have been baking her Raspberry pies for the past 30 years.
Well today is her birthday, 39 again.
She needed this pie. She deserved this pie. I made her this pie.
It tasted good, a little runny.
Red Raspberries and a handful of Strawberries.
Mom got the pie, I got the gift, a little piece of my mom.