Marcia, Marcia, Marcia

When I was a little girl there were four seasons ... fall (I love autumn), winter (I love cold weather), spring (I love green) and summer (you all know how I feel about that one).
In the last 40 or so years the world seems to have adopted a few extra seasons. Christmas isn’t just Christmas any longer ... it’s “Christmas Season.”
Right now lots of folks are getting geared up for a series of seasons called football, volleyball and hunting. Soon it will be chili season as we attempt to warm our insides in response to temperatures on the outside. Chili season is a sub-set of “Soup Season” which arrives sometime after Labor Day and before Halloween.
At this point in time we are moving rapidly toward the end of the growing season only to arrive at harvest season. I know there are quite a few people out there who would love to see “Flip-flop Season” come to an end but I think that one is here to stay.
Anyhow, today I’m here to announce the arrival of the much anticipated “Pie Season.”
Every year I bake for Jay. At our house blueberry, rhubarb and apple pies have already been constructed, baked, served and devoured.
Apple was the most recent pie to meet its demise on East Avenue. My dad procured the apples. Lena and I built the pie while she was visiting last weekend.
We’d been in Benedict Saturday for their parade and barbecue. After having fun listening to The String Beans, playing in the park and checking out antique tractors, Parker was ready for a nap. He’s 19 months old now and lets you know when he’s tired. He sends a message with his thumb. 
While Parker was snoozing, big sis and I got busy. My apple-corer-peeler-slicer was a big hit with Lena. Apple after apple was loaded into the contraption which produces perfect Martha Stewart-worthy slices. Soon, fall fruit was mingling with cinnamon, flour, sugar and vanilla in a bowl.
The crust was a joint effort ... a little bit me and a little bit Lena. We took turns rolling pastry dough into imperfect circles large enough to line a pie plate.
As our pie baked, Lena turned leftover pie crust bits into cookies ... my mom always called these cinnamon-sugar sprinkled treats “straggle-britches,” I don’t know why. Maybe because they were the “stragglers.”
After an hour, out of the oven came the pie. I set it on the stove to cool. Jay was thrilled. After all, how much pie can two little kids eat?
Before bed Lena had a small piece of pie. Parker had a Parker-sized sliver ... and Jay, why Jay had an “I’m king of the recliner, where’s the remote?” size slice of the pie (with ice cream). Two-and-a-half slices disappeared from the pan.
On Sunday morning we fried apples for breakfast. This provided Lena another chance to use the peeler-corer-slicer gadget. I scrambled a few eggs too. Lunch was served later on the patio. At about 2 p.m. we headed to the Family Aquatic Center for a cool dip in the pool.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon when we packed up our soggy towels and headed home. Jamie and Jessica would be picking up the kids soon. Mom and dad arrived on time ... surprising Lena and Parker as they played in the backyard.
We gathered up the kids’ scattered belongings. As they prepared to head back to Kearney, Lena asked her parents if they didn’t want to try a piece of the pie she had baked.
I was reaching for plates before Jamie and Jess could answer ... no one in our family ever refuses pie. And then there was Lena. She wanted pie too — another pair of pieces gone plus a little.
As we walked back into the house after waving good-bye I noted two nice size pieces remained in the pie pan ... I told Jay those were for him.
At around 8:30 that evening Bridger started barking. Someone had come in the front door ... it was my dad, stopping by on his way back to Lincoln from Grand Island.
The pie was sitting on the stove. Since dad was partly responsible (he knew the guy with the apple trees) I offered him a taste.
Jay looked at me ... there was only one piece left and he figured he’d better eat it while he could. So at 9 o’clock I served up pie ala mode to my father and husband.
After dad left for home I apologized and told Jay I owed him a pie.
“That’s okay,” he said rather dejectedly.
“No,” I told him, “I’ll bake another one.”
So, on Monday I went to the grocery store. I’m happy to report the peaches are in the refrigerator ... because it’s Jay’s favorite season ... pie season.