Grandma’s infamous ‘Angel Pie’ recipe fell off my bulletin board in the kitchen this morning.
Picking it off the floor, it seemed like an invitation to a party of memories.
And just the perfect one, flying my direction on Father’s Day.
In my seasoned life, more family members have departed than remain. Yet remembrances are rich and still full of life.
And every June, I imagine these special family members having their own holiday picnic in Grandma’s backyard. I see Grandpa, Dad, and my husband smiling as the main meal is brought out. Soon they’re devouring crispy fried chicken and fresh butter slathered sweet corn on Grandma’s signature blue and white tablecloths.
And there I am, watching every bite from the swing.
It’s about to turn even sweeter as Mom starts serving strawberries laced with sugar laden whip cream on Angel Food Cake.
And then the back porch screen door bangs in the breeze as Grandma proudly presents her mile high Angel Pie to the fathers on their sacred day.
She slices one big piece for a Grandpa who built a second swing inside the garage for his granddaughter. He knew as his health further deteriorated, he could still watch that granddaughter swing from his kitchen chair.
And Grandma slices another for a Dad who played an active role in raising his daughter, in an era when it wasn’t the norm.
And then a third, for a husband who was passionate about adopting a non English speaking 12 year. His unconditional love would prove to shine the brightest in the toughest of those teen years.
After the feast, I watch the women shake the tablecloths clean to tuck them away for the next holiday.
The three wise and loving men in front of me pat their full bellies, looking content.
And it seems the granddaughter, daughter and wife is content as well looking up at the majestic clouds in the sky
But she is also hungry.
Soon the woman takes a journey to the bakery in search of her own slice of Angel Pie.
She’s found there is nothing like a little food for the soul.