Making Peace With Pie

You know the arguments? The arguments that shape us? You know, in that revolving door of relational discord?

Well it'd been years since I'd made a pie. And then recently I made one, then another. 

Making peace with pie, with an argument that shaped me, I realize.

The pies haven't been all that great, but they've been good enough! The process hasn't been all that awful. I'll probably buy an actual pie dish and make another one one of these days soon. So far I've done blackberry and apple--suggestions? Just don't tell me how to measure.

Yeah, just don't tell me how to measure! When I was married, this was an ongoing argument--"How to measure ingredients." Can any other couple claim that one? How to measure ingredients! Specifically flour. 

a)Do you spoon the floor into the measuring cup just so, then lightly tidy the top so it's perfectly straight filled up? 

Sure. I'm sure that is very precise. Very helpful. 

Or, b)do you scoop the cup into the flour bin and lightly shake the excess off?

Cause that's fast, less messy, and, if a little too much is taken in one scoop and you need two scoops well then you can make sure the second scoop is a little less.

I'm 

a b) gal, if you hadn't already guessed. Don't ask me where I "learned" that or "who I learned that from"-- cause I DON'T KNOW. And I don't want to blame anyone (ha!). Maybe I just learned it from myself? I like to learn from myself.

Well anyway, maybe you can see where this is going. And maybe now you can understand how it could've been one of those issues revolving through a door of marital (or otherwise) discord. About pie, about baking, about doing it "right",  about "well can't there can be multiple right ways?", about criticism, about control. 

I resist criticism. I resist control. 

About as much as I DO both of those things! See, I've been learning from myself.

So this was an ongoing argument in my past, but of course it wasn't specifically about pie, it was about bigger things, like many arguments are. And it has stuck. In fact, the other day when I told Matthew that I'd made a pie, in a quick how-are-the-kids text catch up, and I mentioned to him that it'd been ages since I'd made one, he said what I was already thinking, "Oh, I'll always remember that Thanksgiving". And then we both had to go.

That Thanksgiving when Greta was a baby and we had my sister-in-law and brother-in-law over for dinner. They'd come up here from Seattle. As newly marrieds, we used to host people for dinner, and didn't do it much anymore in Vancouver. Lack of money, lack of friends, lack of family. So this was a treat, having company over.

I'm good at getting things done. Just 

not always in the best way. Others, like Matthew, do things closer to perfection, 

but. take. their. time. I wanted the food done sooner than his timeline, so...I offered to help with the pie. WHAT A TERRIBLE IDEA!

I measured things. My way. (Always, honestly, a bit in secret. I didn't want him to see that I still completely resisted his methods. I insisted on mine. It'd be fine.)

But see, I guess pie isn't the same as cake, cookies, other baked goods. Pie 

MAYbe you have to be more precise? For the crust? 

I still can't say for certain.

But HE CAN!

I got to the part where the dough had to be rolled out and all that. I started having trouble. The consistency of the dough was just not quite friendly enough to roll. 

He noticed. Eeeeeeek! He ASKED ME HOW I MEASURED THE FLOUR!!! Eeeeeeeek!

Now, if there's one thing I most certainly am that is a good thing, it is Honest. Sometimes to a fault. So, I told him how I'd measured the flour--by b) scooping my scoop into the bin, NOT a) by spooning the flour into the scoop. 

And, that did it.

That did it, folks. He tossed my crust and STARTED OVER! (Probably after we exchanged some words and facial expressions and huffing and puffing.)

In re-telling this I can see how we were both...idiots(?). That's how both people usually are during an argument. In case you're finding this slanted to one side or the other...try not to. (Unless, of course, you have strong feelings about how to measure. In which case please don't tell me unless you are an option b) chooser. Cause I still measure that way. Despite.)

(Despite!) Oh was I absolutely iRATE, him tossing my crust. Embarrassed too! Right in front of his sister and brother-in-law this happened--and she's a really good cook. (She probably measures option a)...all things considered.)

I left. I couldn't be in there anymore, watching him re-make the crust! Toss out my crust! So wasteful! Such an insult! Was he actually showing PROOF that he was right? Since my crust wasn't rolling properly?!!! I mean, couldn't we just add a little water, a little more shortening or something??

(Couldn't we?)

IRATE.

Every time I walk past this particular church bench in the neighbourhood, I think of that night. Cause that's where I went to sit after my crust was thrown out. Under a tree. Heart thumping with iRATE-ness. The injustice of it all! I walked and I sat there. Walked, and sat there. Watched other people looking somewhat normal and peaceful. Started to emerge out of my rage and realize the big picture of things. Started to feel my heart thump a little more calmly.

And then I went home.

I don't remember anything else, really, about that Thanksgiving. Not even about the pie. Maybe I didn't even eat any of it?

I just remember that argument. Often, whether or not I'm baking, I remember that argument, and others. The arguments that have shaped me. Their revolving door. What they pointed to in their continuing to come back through. The push pull between: Who's more maddeningly rational here? Who's more maddeningly irrational? Like figuring that out would've been the answer.

I probably don't want to get married again, 

NOT cause I don't WANT to,                         AND cause I don't WANT to. 

But that's not really what this is about. And maybe in the middle of those contradictions / mirrored reflections up there ^^ is this space,

this space where I'm making peace with pie? And I'm realizing so much how different dynamics between different people really do exist. 

<<<Clearing my throat confidently and reluctantly >>>I can still be a controlling person who resists criticism, but it doesn't blow up like that old revolving door did. It doesn't. 

Maybe I've also grown? Learned from myself.

Anyway, my first post-marriage relationship was with this high class intellectual guy, who was also a good cook. For Thanksgiving he made--you guessed it--PIE! As I watched him get started on it I didn't pause much before asking, "So...just how do you measure your flour...your ingredients?" 

SUSPENSE!!!

"Ohh! Measure?!" he scoffed, "I just throw stuff in!" 

I just throw stuff in!!! HA!!! Un  Ex  Pected. 

But see? There are multiple ways (??). And...his pie was great, for the record.

You better beLIEVE, in pondering all this more lately, that I've asked the kids how their step mom measures ingredients; see, she's a really good cook. I posited the two main choices to them, seeing if it could jog their memories: ...a) or b): "Ummm not sure, maybe both of those ways?" Hmmm. Were they catching my angle? 

Hmmm. Must. Get. PROOF!                   Really? Must I? 

Well anyway, Simon I've never seen make pie. He says he's good at it. And I'm certain he'd clean the whole thing up afterwards. And it'd be delicious. He tells me jokingly that I'm not really a "natural" in the kitchen. Sometimes he gives me pointers. And I resist, and he laughs. 

Or, I listen to him. Cause, what a concept! And cause sometimes, with some people, (and more awareness and life experience and big picture thinking...) yeah, sometimes that's just easier to do.

Learning from myself.

Hosea wants a chicken pot pie soon. Maybe I'll give it a go.