I forgot to buy my father a birthday card until today, and his birthday is on Sunday. It's too late to mail it now, so I have to wait until tomorrow. I haven't been good with the family holidays - I feel like there really is no way it could be this late in the year - maybe since I wasn't working for a while, my stride has been broken. Gotta get that back.
I was just talking about the time he showed up at my condo one morning unexpectedly (and since he lives in Pennsylvania, you can appreciate this) and very early ( I was still in my bathrobe, but thankfully not still in bed) with one of those white plastic buckets - the 5 gallon variety. Layered in the very bottom of his bucket was just enough sour red cherries to make one pie. He picked the weekend right - it was Father's day weekend - and as soon as I opened the door, he asked me to make a pie. What could I say but 'OK'?
I don't have a cherry pitter and I've never pitted cherries. Nothing like a little cherry hazing to know that if you ever have to do it again, you'll get a cherry pitter. I used my little paring knife and cut the flesh off those nasty little pits. At this point I was really glad Mom likes blueberry pie. Sort 'em and toss 'em in the crust - done. I guess I was thinking of blueberries when I made that pie.
I brought the pie to my brother's house where the 'rents were staying and the Father's day BBQ was happening. After dinner I started doling out the cherry pie. My Father loved his piece, and my Mom and brother said they liked it too. I was looking forward to trying it as I spent so much time pitting those damn cherries. So, after serving everyone a slice, I served myself and took a nice big bite.
This pie sucks!
I made it like a blueberry pie - only a 1/2 cup sugar - not like a rhubarb pie - a heavy cup of sugar - which would have been more appropriate.
He said he liked it (course he always said he liked my burnt chocolate chip cookies when I was a teenager, too).
Now I just need to remember to call on Sunday. Happy Birthday Pa :)
23 minutes ago