Pies in the Oven

Monday, November 22, 2010

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Introducing . . .

My first holiday pie of the year.

It's Pioneer Woman's Dreamy Apple pie ... ehem... without the hard sauce ... or the fancy camera ... and a few charred spots of sugar on the top.  But didn't Mama always say a little charcoal never hurt anyone? 

Next up?

The honey-scented pumpkin pie from the Publix supermarket pumpkin puree label.  Sweet Publix.  Oh, how I love Publix.  In fact, I think it's time for another episode of *buh.duh.duh.duuuuh* The Why-Georgia-Rocks Show.  I thought you'd be pretty excited about that.  You might want to sit down for this.

Number Three:  Georgia gives football players of all ages the opportunities to feel like champions.  I went to a middle school game a few months ago, and the hoopla (this is the official "football term" for the lights, announcer, referee uniforms, cheers, and pretzels) was nicer than my college football hoopla.

Number Two:  Publix.  Grocery Store Extraordinaire.  The cashiers itemize my items.  The stockers front all the stock.  The butchers ask me if I need any meat.  The sandwiches are better than I've had in any sandwich shop, and the crab dip is divine. 

Number One:  Still topping the list of my Why-Georgia-Rocks Show is the Southern Man.  Sure, some women feel trapped by chivalry and laundry days, breadwinners and good ol' boys.  The longer I live, the more I'm finding that Gram probably didn't have laundry days because of tradition; she probably had them because maybe she would've turned into a giant mess like me if she hadn't installed a little organization in her life-- Mondays are for sheets; Tuesdays are for ironing.  Um...I digress.  Breadwinners are hot (though I like to throw my own contribution into the bowl), good ol' boys know where the best local diners are, and when a man holds the door open for me, I feel the world tilt on its axis ... just as it should be.  So, Men of Georgia*, I salute you.

*This salute is intended for Men (capital "m").  As is true in every region of the country, knotheads lurk if you're looking for them.  But most people around here are pretty solid.

Butter Pie.  McCartney.  Dig a Little.
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Strolling with Friends

Sunday, November 7, 2010

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I don't like moving on.  Digging in my heels, gritting my teeth, and flipping my chin to the sky, I usually refuse to do it.  The feeling of looking at something gorgeous in the rearview mirror fingernails my chalkboards in a way I hate.  When something rare and wonderful spends a season in my life, I wish for Fall forever . . . or Summer, or Spring, or even Winter. 

But I'm wrong.  I know I'm wrong.  I'm the teenager wearing shorts in a blizzard.  I'm the pioneer whose lantern isn't lit, and the sun has gone down.  I'm holding on to friendships that passed me by when I wasn't watching.

Change is as real as the skin on our bones.  We shed about 2-million skin cells an hour!  Time changes everything, even friendships.  Friends are friends forever, but maybe the same friends aren't friends in the same ways forever.

It's time for me to wake up and start paying attention.

Need more iron. Mums. Zippies.

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