Never Say Never

Seeing the work of my hands – the BEST work of my hands – go up in flames like that… well, there are no words to describe how it felt.  The waves of nausea morphed into denial which morphed into rage that morphed into grief that finally morphed into deep depression which settled down like a chain around my neck. I resign myself to the terrible reality as my new 'normal'.

I will never make another pie ever again. I know it.

Figuring out what caused the oven to turn into pie incinerator helps a little. And it doesn’t. 

The feeling, of course, eventually begins to wear off. I realize I must learn to live in a world that sometimes incinerates your best work without becoming paranoid of every toaster oven. This is a lot more difficult than I could ever have anticipated. But  jumping out of your seat every time somebody lights a scented candle is no way to live either. 

By the time my husband’s birthday rolls around, I decide that he is worth going out on a limb again.

Back in Florida, I make a long-distance call to my mother-in-law in California and put her on the speaker phone. She guides me step by step by step.

That evening I pull out an unprecedented surprise for our small family.

You made this?!!! My children’s eyes are about to pop out of their sockets. Did you cheat? Did you cheat at all?

Nope. No cheating. I don’t think the call quite qualifies as cheating. All from scratch.

When the last of the crumbs are licked along with melted vanilla ice cream, I get the best compliment I could ever dream of.

Not bad. Not bad.  Of course, not quite like Mom’s but pretty darn close. Perhaps now you can try to make her famous Swiss cheese souffle...

Cheese soufflee?!!! Not the cheese soufflee!!!