August 28, 2012
When I walk into a bookstore, I begin with a feeling of awe. So many wonderful books to read: this one with the nice cover and that one I heard about on the radio and the other I always was meaning to read some day. Within a short time the awe overwhelms. A sadness creeps in filled with knowing I will never read them all and there are so many good ones. On the tail wind of that sadness is an anxiousness telling me to go write something quick! before all the words are used up. There are only so many unique combinations, and although it is a huge number it is also finite (unless (and here is my mathematics training flying in the face of reasonableness) we allowed words and books to be infinitely long, but that is another–long–story).
On the other hand, isn’t it nice to read something, which is exactly what you intended to say except written much better. Here is A. A. Milne taking the words from my mouth.
- “When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?”
- “What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?”
- “I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.
- Pooh nodded thoughtfully.
- “It’s the same thing,” he said.
This week’s excitement aptly took the form of a salty honey pie thanks to several delicious experiences at Four and Twenty Blackbirds and a search revealing their generously shared recipe online. Since my pie tin is not so high I found 2/3 of the filling reached capacity. Otherwise, I followed the simple instructions and it was delicious. So delicious I made it twice, even though, as my mother tells me and she is right, it is summer (ignore that back-to-school propaganda) so to make any dessert without fruit is practically sinful. This is very true, but the honey was harvested by a dear friend farming in Hawaii and what better way to showcase an extravagant gift then by carmelizing and custardizing it within a buttery shell alongside freshly whipped cream.
Of course, honey…hunny spells only one thing and that is P-O-O-H.
Winnie-the-Pooh came round for elevenses (or breakfast dessert, as you might prefer to say). When a pie contains nearly two sticks of butter and half a cup of cream certain company might mind their waists. Not so Winnie-the-Pooh who helped himself to seconds, thirds, and thirds and a halfs. Beyond murmurs of appreciation and offers and acceptances to more pie, we did not need to talk being of the same mind so often.
When we had our fill we sat back, patted our contented bellies, and wondered, what’s for lunch?