Bake the Pie

Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash

I like pumpkin just fine. But it's not something I crave. And I haven't completely fallen for the pumpkin-spice-thing. I do get why it's a thing, though. At least I have a theory. There are sensory triggers that are deeply embedded in memory. Associated with a time, place or person. A perfume, perhaps, reminds you of a beloved. A song from high school days brings back the faces of friends you maybe haven't seen since. The taste of (fill in the blank) makes you long for home. In the fall, most of us can recall a time when the aroma of a baking pie - typically pumpkin - filled the house. For me, it was always Thanksgiving morning. Mama would get up crack-of-dawn-early and start cooking. She had this innate sense of timing so everything came out hot and ready to be served. With nary a written list in sight. I have attempted this... with weeks of advanced preparation plus a timeline. And have yet to serve hot mashed potatoes. Well, except for when I figured out to make them early in the process and keep them in the crock pot on low. Which works fine if you don't mind them a little pasty. Always, on Thanksgiving morning, the scent of pumpkin spice - the real McCoy, cut through the roasting turkey and sagey dressing undertones. I would wake up with excitement and plant myself on the couch to watch the parade (Macy's, of course) while the warmth of Mama's kitchen genius wrapped around me. I do not recall as a little girl ever eating the pie.

To the point. I think the pumpkin-spice-thing draws out in us a longing for other kitchens. For people far away, maybe heaven-far. For imagined simpler times. But, if I may traipse into sacrilege for some, the imitation falls way short of the real thing. The candle and coffee creamer may just be substitutes for other yearnings. For family or community. For better days - or perceived better ones. So, here's the thing. Light the candle and doctor the coffee. There is not one thing wrong with scenting up a room and warming up a belly. But bake the pie, too. Do the real thing. Fill up a morning for your family - even if family is the cat - with an aroma that cannot be duplicated in wax and non-dairy liquid. Better yet, bake two pies. And give one away. Or. Make a pot of coffee and invite someone into your home to share it. Gasp. Do people do that anymore?

I've been talking about pie, obviously, but this is mainly about authenticity. From the lady who finally broke down and bought a fake Christmas tree, that's pretty cheeky. I'm just hoping beyond hope that we have not raised a generation who wakes up on Thanksgiving morning craving candles. That's all I'm saying. Taste and see that the Lord, He is good. Selah.

Post Script: Among the houseguests is my first-born son. A few weeks ago, he asked if I would like to add some pizzazz to my blog. Okay... he didn't say pizzazz but he worked on my website and I cried when I saw how beautiful he made it look. Just now, he walked into my office to say he'd just read this morning's blog and it made him think of how in the Old Testament they would burn specific incense in the temple. That it represented the prayers of the people. And how in Revelation it describes the prayers of the people as a sweet smelling aroma to God. Looks like this generation is going to be just fine.

May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice. Psalm 141:2