Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Puttin' on my pie pants

Today is my favorite day.

Of the whole year, it is my favorite day.

Today is a day for tonight. Today is the day that I spend counting down to tonight.

Tonight is for yoga pants and coffee with Amarula. For 10 hour pop music playlists. For the Flip cam and the DSLR. Tonight is the night we make inside jokes and write on the Facebook walls of our accomplices (while they’re sitting in the same room). Tonight we cover every inch of my mother’s kitchen in flour.

Tonight is pie night.

Tonight is my favorite night of the year.

If you’ve been reading So Midwestern for a while, you know all about Pie Night. If you haven’t, let me sum up what the night before Thanksgiving is all about: pies. My mom, my sister, me and all of my female cousins. We bake pies. An unnecessarily large number of them, as Mom insists that we bake a pie for every two people who will be at Thanksgiving dinner.

Also because – I suspect – she doesn’t want the night to pass by too quickly.

Pie Night is a special night. It makes absolutely no sense – cramming 10 females into a single kitchen, singing Britney Spears and drinking wine while somehow managing to follow the recipes, trashing my mom’s kitchen before she hosts Thanksgiving dinner. It is a tradition that is nonsensical, but it is lasting. We had Pie Night four days after Aunt Marie’s funeral. We had Pie Night when Danielle’s bipolar disorder was crazy scary rampant. We have Pie Night because that’s what we do.

We’re wild and we’re silly and we’re casual. It’s tradition that doesn’t require planning other than much anticipation (there is significant Facebook fodder preceding this event) and a trip to the grocery store. There is no hanging of decorations or special protocol or mandatory attendance. It’s just...well, it’s Pie Night. The best night of the year.


Kari said...

mmm pie! Have fun!

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