So, to sum up: Thanksgiving, small family gathering, lovely, Luke home, talked to Taylor on the phone and heard Ellie coo, my mom settling into the noise and change of our busy house and smiling often, at the food, the love-insistent cats, the pie, oh the pie, happy, happy, whee!
Because among those things I was immediately thankful for, yes, the pie.
So, to sum up: Thanksgiving, small family gathering, lovely, Luke home, talked to Taylor on the phone and heard Ellie coo, my mom settling into the noise and change of our busy house and smiling often, at the food, the love-insistent cats, the pie, oh the pie, happy, happy, whee!
Because among those things I was immediately thankful for, yes, the pie.
My sister Marlyn’s homemade key lime pie, which tasted, I kid you not, the most like a Key West key lime pie I’ve had since that halcyon Key West year, 1999-2000, which I never wanted to end, but then, life, and the dregs of gray wet Elizabeth City days, a flattening out of everything, the rumbles, the fumbles, the tumbles into down, down, down, the sadness, the breaking.
My fabulous niece Torre brought homemade whipped cream!
And for a few incredible minutes there, that Caribbean sun was bathing my wanting face anew, a blow-up rain shower moving south on us in the distance, set to thunder against the tin roofs like mighty Thor in heaven, its first explosive drops pelting up tiny bursts of limestone dust in the narrow Old Town streets from whatever spate of perpetual new construction, the funky-ass smell of mangroves flickering in and out with the frangipani wind, the sun quick on the storm’s heels, to bright the drenched hibiscus day back up to perfection.
Lordy, lordy.
Let there be another slice. Please.
<Post likes lost from original blogsite>
