Painting and pie

The Cherry filling

Steven makes the dough

Steven trims the edges

Get to know me -- I am not even a pie eater. But there are
two kinds of pie that I love, and both celebrate a season.
My husband's cherry pie is the penultimate dessert
experience. The cherries are fresh from the tree, pitted
with determination by Sam, and are in the oven, in the
pie now. I am painting wildly to a deadline. Painting
so hard that my hands hurt and my eyes are trying
to burn holes in everything I see. I was watching my
cat wash herself on the window ledge today and I realized
that I couldn't even do that casually.

Timbah visits me in the studio to tell me that
the pie's in the oven. I was looking at
images on the computer and he climbed
up on the back of the chair.

So my contribution to this delicious prospect has been
to harvest as many cherries as a short person can pick
by standing on ladders under the tree, climbing on our garage from a
ladder held by Sam, and reaching on tiptoe from the
bench beside the garage. I have yanked that tree around
something fierce pulling on one branch to make the
next one come close enough. And when we eat this pie,
and are as fat as can be, I've picked almost four more cups for
another. Ach aye (as the Scots say). I'm part Scottish.

The other great pie is pumpkin of course, but discussions
on that will have to wait. Now back to the painting
I hope you are imagining the smell of cherry pie
baking. Too bad the blog didn't have a scratch and
sniff component. Better yet, teletransportation, so I
could send a piece to all of you, and save myself from
temptation.

Have a waiting-for-pie-and-painting day