Back when pie was P.I.E.

One of my favorite times of the year is here: It's pie season!

The weeks surrounding Thanksgiving are when pies take center stage. Christmas time is for cookies; Thanksgiving time is for pies. The planning for them. The baking of them. The eating of them. This is when the traditional Thanksgiving favorites top dessert menus.

I'm talking pumpkin pies, of course, but apple pies, pecan pies, sweet potato pies and mincemeat pies, too. Though I admit I've never tried the last three on the list, as traditional Thanksgiving pies at my place are pumpkin, cherry and chocolate cream. (Pecans, sweet potatoes and mincemeat aren't something I have a hankering for any time of the year, in pies or otherwise.)

Then there are the fancy-pants kinds of Thanksgiving pies seen on magazine covers and Pinterest boards, the pies I hope to one day bake, hope to one day taste. Caramel apple pie. Pumpkin ice cream pie. Peanut butter pie. Strawberry-raspberry pie and cranberry pies of all sorts, too.

I love pie.

But Thanksgiving time is the only time I make pie, the only time I eat pie.

That wasn't always the case.

For a brief period of time when my daughters still lived at home, I proposed pie as our all-time — meaning All. The. Time — dessert of choice. Not for dessert though, but for breakfast. On Saturdays. Saturdays far removed from Thanksgiving.

For several months, I offered my then-teenage girls (and my husband, too) pie on Saturday mornings. A time or two I baked a pie, but more often than not it was a perfect pastry picked up from the nearest Village Inn or Perkins, those 24/7 restaurants featuring display cases filled with full-sized pies of the most luscious sorts. Our favorite was the silky smooth French Silk topped with rich, thick, real whipped cream and chunky chocolate shavings. Runner up? A cookies and cream concoction that was to die for, at least for those who'd die for more than their share of Oreo cookies.

On very ordinary Saturdays, I'd set out on the kitchen counter the perfect pie for the family to serve themselves a piece as they woke on Saturday mornings. Alongside the delectable pie and the dessert plates on which pieces were to be placed, I set a note card on which I'd written the following:

May you always have P.I.E.

Peace, Inspiration and Enthusiasm

Those three things — peace, inspiration and enthusiasm — were what I considered essential ingredients for a fullfilled life. I wanted fulfilling lives for my girls. I wanted them to always have peace, always find inspiration, always be enthusiastic about their world and their place in it.

I wanted them to always have P.I.E.

I thought pie was the perfect way to serve up regular reminders to pursue exactly those things.

My pie-serving quest took place during my oldest daughter's senior year of high school. When the opportunity arose for parents to purchase ad space in the yearbook, space in which they could publish a farewell to their graduating children, I bought space, noted a few niceties for Brianna from Mom and Dad, and ended it with "And remember to always have P.I.E."

I wanted Brianna, as well as Megan and Andrea, to place firmly in their hearts and minds my efforts at impressing upon them the importance of P.I.E.... and pie. I wanted those pie-serving Saturdays to be added to their lists of Cool Things Mom Used to Do and become cool things they would one day do with their own children. I wanted them to always remember to have P.I.E. and to always remember Mom's serving up of such slices of wisdom.

That didn't happen.

I asked one of my daughters not long ago if she remembered all the pie we used to eat. My question sparked not even the slightest glimmer of remembrance. More recently, when the proliferation of pie pins on Pinterest reminded me of our P.I.E. eating days and I considered writing a post such as this, I asked Jim if he remembered those pies I hoped had meant so much to my family. He didn't.

Sometimes our attempts at making an impression on our children, on our families, fail. My earnest efforts at making P.I.E. an important part of our Saturdays and each and every day to come were one such failure. It was good at the time. No, it was delicious at the time. But, as is the case with all things related to growing babies into adults, that time didn't last. Our prime pie season, for reasons of which I'm not quite sure, lasted a shorter period than most other seasons of childrearing.

No matter, though. The return of pie season brings with it my hope that peace, inspiration and enthusiasm abound in the hearts and lives of my daughters — even without me foisting upon them oversized servings of French Silk Pie.

And despite being unable to share oversized servings of French Silk Pie with you, my friends, I hope that during this Thanksgiving season and beyond, you, too, will remember to always have pie. Not only the pie that satisfies your stomach, but the P.I.E. that satisfies your soul, too.

Today's question:

What are your favorite kinds of pie?

Ornaments of Christmases past

At tree-trimming time every Christmas, I gave each of my three daughters a new ornament, beginning when they were all still quite small. Some years the ornaments given reflected a passion or hobby of each individual girl; other years, all three received similar ornaments with only a slight variation on a common theme. Every year, all were dated and hung upon the family tree.

With three new ornaments added for the girls each year plus a new one for Jim and myself annually, too, our Christmas tree became jam-packed with ornaments by the time the girls were ready to leave the nest. The paring down of the baubles was far more abrupt than the collecting. First it was Megan's collection that we wrapped up and sent with her once she became a newlywed. Next, Andrea moved up and out and on, taking her ornaments with her. Then, just a few years ago, Brianna and her seasonal stash found a new home, as well.

Now that Jim and I decorate our tree with many old ornaments of our own, plus nearly just as many new ornaments to take the place of those relocated to our daughters' Christmas trees, it's been especially heartwarming this past week while visiting my grandsons to see many of the familiar ornaments of Christmases past hanging on Megan's tree. Not only those I had given her through the years, but ones she had made herself or received from others, too.

 

Equally heartwarming to see hung in a place of prominence at Megan's house was an advent calendar I had made for my daughters many years ago, now providing a chocolate-y countdown to Christmas for my grandsons.

It's bittersweet to see old, familiar seasonal decor adorning a home so far removed from mine, in years and in geography. Every once in a while during this visit, I've been hit with the overwhelming realization that things will never go back to what they were, that time has indeed ticked along, those days are gone, and this is where we as a family are, what we will be from now on. Not that I didn't realize that—or be okay with that—already, but the confirmation of such sometimes comes in unexpected and occasionally uncomfortable waves. No more kids' ornaments hanging on the tree was and is just the beginning...and the end.

That serves as the bitter. The sweet? Seeing the enjoyment my grandsons now get pulling foiled Santas and chocolate balls from the very same crudely numbered pockets their mom and aunts once did, counting the days until Santa's arrival. Days that to a child move far too slowly. Days that to a mom—and now a grandma— moved far too fast and somehow, without proper notice, became years.

Today's question:

What holiday ornaments have you passed down to your children?

Merry melee making

If you refrained from chasing shopping deals this morning, you—like I—surely missed out on merry making similar to these scenes from last year's Black Friday celebration:

If you didn't refrain and awoke early to elbow your way among the crowds, I tip my hat to you. You're a far braver shopper than I.

Curious minds want to know, though: Those of you who indulged in Black Friday shopping, did you encounter scenes like those in the video? Or did the Thanksgiving Day/Evening store openings put a dent in the Black Friday morning crowds?

Cheers—I think—to the official opening of the holiday shopping season!

Today's question:

What percentage of your holiday gift list have you completed, whether buying or making the gifts?

Nine in five

Nine things I've learned in the last five days:

1. I will never again use Kool-Aid to color Easter eggs. The colors aren't vibrant, purple turns brown, green is impossible (even if you mix yellow and blue), and the color doesn't stay on the eggs very well at all.

2. Woodpeckers will from now on be called Woodeffers by me because they do nothing but eff up the wood on the side of my house. And they chuckle from the trees when I chase them off, only to return to their previous effing pecking spot the instant I go inside.

3. Traditions started in childhood continue to matter—as much to my daughters as to me.

4. Photos sent via text messaging are the next best thing to Skype which is the next best thing to being there.

(Though it would have been nice to be there to hug Baby Mac, who looks a wee bit scared of—or, more likely, annoyed by—Mr. Bunny.)

5. Popping Vitamin E pills really does help with cracked heels. Literally popping the pills, that is, and rubbing the oil into your heels.

6. I can't get enough Bones. The series. We may be late comers to the series, but thanks to instant streaming on Netflix, Jim and I are well into the fourth season and never at a loss for what to watch on TV despite having canceled cable several months ago. (And we will surely be just as sad to end the marathon viewing sessions as we were when we finished Lost. And Firefly. And Lie to Me. And Friday Night Lights. And Sons of Anarchy.)

7. Jim is dead serious about preferring chocolate desserts over any other kind. Even ones that look—and taste!—as delicious as the Mini Cheesecakes I made for Easter dinner.  

8. I'm no longer compelled to stay awake until my children come home after a night out, proven by my being sound asleep when our Easter weekend houseguest, Andrea, went out with friends Saturday night and got home well after the bars had closed.

9. Despite huge changes to the dynamics and logistics over the past several years, the best part of each and every holiday has remained the same: time with my favorite people, my family—all except the desert dwellers, of course.

(Even when they're dorks like Brianna and Andie and unwittingly wear the very same outfit on the same day.)

Today's question:

What have you recently learned?

The joys of boys

I have only daughters. My daughter Megan has only sons. I'm learning through Megan of all the joys I missed out on having raised only girls, the least of which being the solemnity with which holiday traditions are observed.

To wit, Megan's Christmas Eve Facebook status:

I hope your Christmas was merry and bright!

Disclosure: I did photo edit (and not all that well) to replace my grandson's real name with the name I use for him on this blog. He does indeed have a normal name to go with his normal boy antics.

Today's question:

What most warmed your heart—or most made you groan—about your holiday celebrations?

Cookies = Christmas

One major mile-marker on my road to Christmas has been passed: I hosted my family's annual Cookie Swap on Sunday.

The lineup of goodies swapped was impressive:

And the time with family was festive (with a large chunk of it dedicated to football, as expected):

My mom and sisters and I have been swapping holiday cookies for about a quarter of a century now, and Sunday's gathering had four generations of the family in attendance.

Cookie Swap prep time and baking can be quite a chore, but it's one well worth it as I hope the tradition will continue for many more years to come, for many more generations to enjoy.

Today's question:

If you had to eliminate all sweets and treats from your holiday diet except for one, which one seasonal goodie would you keep on enjoying?

From both sides now

Even several years into it, an empty nest can be hard to get used to. Especially during the holidays. No longer do I have play-by-play announcements from the family room of who's up next in the Thanksgiving parade as I prep the turkey in the kitchen. No longer must I search high and low for a favorite Christmas CD that's been nabbed from the holiday-music tin by a teen who wants to play it in her room or car. Nor do I have youngsters—or teenagers—waking up early as can be on Christmas morning, excitedly serving as the alarm that time had come for celebrations to begin. 

I miss all that and more—even the pilfered music—that was part and parcel of a full nest. Every now and then I indulge in pity parties, bemoaning the occasional sadness Jim and I now share since our daughters have grown up, moved on.

In my self-centered, self-pitying mindset, I often, no, I pretty much always forget that my daughters face their own sadness and challenges in the growing up, the moving on. Especially during the holidays. My youngest daughter, Andrea, recently—unintentionally—reminded me of exactly that.

Andrea was scheduled to work on Thanksgiving and wouldn't be able to spend the day with the family. As a counselor in a residential treatment facility for troubled adolescent girls, staff is required to be on-site 24/7, and Andrea's regular hours include Thursdays, which, of course, Thanksgiving was. Which meant she had no choice but to cover that shift. It was to be her first Thanksgiving absent from our table, so she and some friends who also had to work that day—plus a few who simply couldn't make it to their own family homes for the holiday—planned a holiday gathering of friends for later in the evening, after the workday was done.

The idea Andie couldn't be home for Thanksgiving—that now two of my three daughters wouldn't be around for the day—saddened me. But in these crazy economic times a job must come first, so I accepted it. I didn't accept as easily, though, the seemingly nonchalant attitude from Andrea each time we discussed it. I never voiced it to her, but in all honesty, there were a few times I thought my youngest might just be asserting her independence and actually pretending to me that she had to work but in fact was planning a full day of holiday fun and frivolity with her friends instead of her family.

How wrong I was. Turns out Andrea was just doing her best to stay strong in the face of reality, of growing up, of being an adult, of needing to stay employed. Her tough facade crumbled Thanksgiving evening. On her way home from the gathering, Andrea called me in tears. The celebration with friends had been fine, the food was good, she assured me, but it simply wasn't Thanksgiving at home, and it broke her heart to feel so far away from family during a holiday for the very first time.

"I'm 26 years old," she said through her tears, "I'm just being stupid and a big baby, but I missed being home. It was just...so...hard!"

I realized at that moment how rarely I take into account what my girls have gone through, continue to go through, on the road to adulthood and independence from their parents. I focus only on what I'm missing, what I've lost.

I don't consider often enough Andrea's steadfast determination to continue traditions instilled in her childhood, everything from green eggs and ham on Saint Patrick's Day to pumpkin-carving competitions for Halloween. Or a holiday turkey dinner with friends that may be fine...but oh-so hard to get through without crying.

I don't consider often enough the role reversal for my middle daughter, Megan, who as a child definitely enjoyed the giving but wholeheartedly preferred and relished the receiving at Christmas. She'd happily pose with her piles of presents, giddy with the prospect of opening them. Once her picture was taken, she'd dive right in with unbridled joy, not worrying one whit what went on around her. Now as wife/Mommy/grown-up, Megan must care plenty of whits, as she plays supervisor of the family giving and receiving, making sure celebrations run smoothly, successfully. In other words, putting everyone else first. Which can be hard, is hard.

I don't consider often enough that my oldest daughter, Brianna, leads a solitary home life yet still does her darnedest to make her home a happy space filled with holiday joy to enjoy on her own. Just last week she decorated her tree, by herself, with no one to help string the lights, hang the ornaments, place the angel on top. "You have no idea how difficult it can be doing it all by yourself," she later told me.

And I don't know. Because I have a husband to help. And because after Brianna finished her own tree, decorating her own place, she hopped in the car and drove over to help Jim and me decorate our tree, our place.

"I had to come," she said when I thanked her for doing so. "With Megan gone now and Andrea not able to help this year, I didn't want you and Dad to be sad doing it alone. We have to ween you off such things slowly, Mom. I know it's hard."

She's right. It is indeed hard—for all of us. I need to consider that, I need to remember that. Especially during the holidays. 

Today's question:

What did you miss most about holidays at home when you first left the nest?

Of Indian corn, cranberries, tradition

I'm a sucker for establishing and following family traditions. My family of origin didn't have many traditions, but the family Jim and I created has been steeped in them, especially during the holidays. All holidays, from New Years to St. Patrick's Day to Fourth of July and on into Thanksgiving and Christmas. For each, we have traditions unique to our clan, ones we've followed for years.

Well, at least used to.

The empty nest continually challenges my desire to do as we've done in years upon years past. I'm struggling with creating new traditions to replace the old ones, the ones that required participation of the whole family...or at least its majority. I'm not yet used to not having the majority around for the celebrations that mattered—and continue to matter—most. Yesterday's Thanksgiving celebration, although delightful and enjoyable, was the first time I celebrated a holiday with only one of my three daughters. One had to work, the other celebrated with in-laws. I understand and accept such things, such changes; I'm just not yet used to them.

The empty nest isn't the only thing challenging my commitment to traditions set into motion years ago. Basic changes in our society—specifically, the availability of certain goods and services—take a toll as well.

To wit: I once upon a time created a tradition of sprinkling on the Thanksgiving table the multi-colored kernels of Indian corn. Throughout the meal, family and other guests were invited to place kernels representing the blessings for which they were thankful into a ceramic "gratitude" dish placed on the table. I considered it a way to express our thanks without having to say such things aloud and draw uncomfortable attention to oneself or the things for which they're grateful.

It was a tradition we followed for years, but I'm now unable to find Indian corn anywhere. (I wrote here of one embarrassing Thanksgiving when I had saved the kernels from the previous year, upon realizing the corn was confoundedly difficult to find every year.) Last year we spent the holiday at Megan's house sans gratitude dish, but the year prior, I decided to use popcorn kernels in place of the nowhere-to-be-found Indian corn kernels. I quickly realized it just didn't have the same feel, the same "pop" (pardon the pun) as the Indian corn, that tried-and-true symbol of Thanksgiving. I considered the tradition over.

Until this past Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. I came up with a brilliant idea, a way to continue the tradition, with similarly symbolic tokens to represent our gratitude. Cranberries! Why I didn't think of it before, I don't know. But yesterday my Thanksgiving table was sprinkled with the festive red berries, most everyone a berry or two or ten symbolizing blessings in the dish, and in no time our gratitude cup indeed runneth over. Success!

Time and the toll it's taken on the commercial availability of Indian corn required me to alter one of the my family's most time-honored traditions. It felt a little funny at first, but it worked. Sure, the Indian corn was missed...and fondly recalled. But the cranberries worked just as well, even added a colorful turn the tradition lacked in its initial form. A new tradition was born.

As we head into the Christmas season—the holiday marked by the most treasured of family traditions—I resolve to hold close the lesson of our altered Thanksgiving tradition. It's proof that despite changes and alterations, new traditions can be just as meaningful, just as important as the old.

As Indian corn can be replaced by cranberries, new traditions celebrated by a family minority—possibly even just by Jim and myself—can be just as meaningful, just as important as those once celebrated by our entire family. I'll be mindful of that, keep reminding myself of that.

Out of habit, though, I'll likely keep an eye out for Indian corn in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving for a long time to come. Similarly, one part of my heart will always be focused on the traditions that once defined our family, as well. At least until I find something as festive and colorful as the cranberries to replace them.

Today's question:

Which of your family traditions have changed—or ceased—through the years?

Wish lists: To give or to receive?

I just finished my holiday wish list. It's a long one, with all kinds of goodies I'd be happy to see under my tree or in my stocking come Christmas morning. I've added, edited, re-added, then checked it twice and hit "send," forwarding it on to my husband and my daughters.

Makes me sound like a greedy ol' grandma, doesn't it? Like my long wish list serves as a not-so-subtle way of goading my family into spending oodles of cash on me.

It's quite the opposite, though. My lengthy list was provided and passed along out of love—a provision my daughters and husband understood and, thankfully, reciprocated, sending their very own lists of wants and wishes to me.

Our tradition of exchanging lengthy wish lists started years, possibly even decades ago. When my daughters were youngsters, they naturally made up lists of all they desired from Santa. Creating the list was oh-so important. To them. Then, as visions of Jolly Ol' St. Nick stopping by were replaced with the reality that Mom was the primary purchaser of gifts exchanged come Christmas, wish lists became more important than ever. To me.

My family is of modest means. It's safe to say that in some years, we were pretty far below the line marking those means even modest. Which meant every penny spent was precious, and I sure didn't want to waste a single one on gifts my loved ones didn't genuinely desire. As mother to three daughters, true wants and wishes were often hard to figure out, especially when the girls were pre-teens and teens. Hence the wish lists. I didn't want to guess and have either of us—or my bank account—come up short.

So I started the annual rite of sometime before Black Friday asking my daughters—and husband—to create wish lists, to write down more than they could ever hope to receive for Christmas. With a wish list in hand as I did my holiday shopping, I'd be sure to grant at least a wish or two, regardless of my means. Requesting especially long lists served a purpose, too: it ensured the gifts I gave would be a surprise, to some degree, as the recipients wouldn't know for certain exactly which items I'd purchased from their lists until the gifts were opened.

My girls aren't greedy, so it's never been in their nature to make huge requests, lengthy requests of what they're hoping to receive. But they did (and do) as I wished, knowing providing the lists was, in fact, a gift to me, helpful in my desire to please them with my purchases.

Which is exactly the reason I do the same for them. I provide long wish lists in hopes my daughters won't waste their hard-earned money trying to please their mama with the perfect gift. I list for them everything that would be perfect, not only for me, but for their pocketbooks. I give them inexpensive ideas and they're welcome to choose whatever works for them. And whatever works for them will surely be wonderful to me. My list guarantees that.

That doesn't mean we shun and discourage gifts not featured on a list. Receiving something not on a list can be a pleasure of indescribable sorts, a sign a loved one has taken note of another's likes and desires and needs without having to be told. I welcome that. We all welcome that. But we all also are happy to provide the safety net of a wish list, just in case.

Gift-giving can be awkward, for both the giver and the receiver. It can be even more awkward—for both sides—when the one giving isn't confident about what she's given. Which is why I consider providing a wish list a gift in itself, one I'm ever so happy to give. Even more so, they're a gift I'm forever grateful to receive.

Photo: fotolia

Today's question:

What is the wish-list protocol in your family?

Thanksgiving recipe swap

With Thanksgiving just one week away, I, like many, have food on the brain: What to make, what to buy, what to serve up to dazzle the guests.

Okay, the "dazzle" part is a bunch of hooey. At least for me. I'm not really looking to dazzle any of the family joining us on Turkey Day; I'm simply hoping to satisfy everyone's cravings for dishes tried and true. Which means I'll be serving up the basics, the goodies I've served up every Thanksgiving for countless years.

Which got me to thinking: Every family has certain foods that are tradition to their clan, often served up only on Thanksgiving. Today I want to discuss those here...including the swapping of the recipes for those so inclined.

So tell me: What dishes have a standing spot on your Thanksgiving table? Which are the family favorites? Which are your favorites? And which are on the table simply because they've always been there, always will be, regardless of the number of friends and family who actually eat them (I'm thinking specifically of cranberries...which I really do like and prefer whole over jellied).

I'll get the ball rolling by offering up a dish that has become tradition in my immediate family, a dish I first made 25 or so years ago and have served every Thanksgiving since, at least when I've been the one hosting the holiday meal. Megan now makes it for her Thankgsiving meals, which warms my heart to see one of my off-the-wall offerings on its way to becoming a recipe of Gramma's passed down through the generations.

The recipe likely once had an official name, but in my family it's known as Mom's Cheesy Corn Casserole. It's been posted in my Grandma's Recipe Box for quite some time, but I'd like to share it again here, for our just initiated (possibly to become annual) Grandma's Briefs Thanksgiving Recipe Swap:

Cheesy Corn Casserole

1 10-ounce package frozen corn, thawed and drained

8 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, shredded

4 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, shredded

6 slices white bread, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

4 eggs

2 cups milk

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon pepper

1-2 tablespoons butter or margarine

Preheat oven to 300 degrees (yes, 300). Butter a shallow 2-quart baking dish. Sprinkle half the corn in the bottom, then sprinkle with half the cheddar cheese, then half the Monterey jack cheese. Cover with half the bread cubes. Repeat all layers. Beat together eggs, milk, salt and pepper and pour over all layers, pressing down the bread to be sure it's all moistened. Dot with butter. Bake uncovered for 90 minutes, or until puffed and dark golden on top.

Makes 8 servings.

(For big gatherings, you can double this recipe, using a 9X13 dish. Photo above is a doubled recipe.)

There you have it: My one and only out-of-the-ordinary, traditional-in-our-house Thanksgiving dish. The rest of the Thanksgiving spread is pretty much what you'd expect...including cranberries, that may or may not get eaten but without which it just wouldn't be Thanksgiving.

Now it's your turn! Let the recipe swapping begin!

Today's question:

What dish is a family tradition on your Thanksgiving table? (Sharing of recipes encouraged and appreciated! If you have the recipe posted on your blog, feel free to include the link. And yes, pie and dessert recipes are welcome!)