Speaking of Pie

I remembered something else.  It came to mind thinking of pies and missing home. 
We had a lot of get togethers in the south.  Here, not so much.  I thought maybe we weren't getting invited anywhere, but quite a bit, they don't have them.  For one thing, it costs a lot of money to rent a fire hall.  For another, the weather is too stupid for nine months out of twelve.  I can barely go to meeting in February.  Don't even think I can carry a bunch of pies to a $300 get together in a blizzard.
When we walked into the East Hills Kingdom Hall the first time, I nearly fainted.  There is a big rock wall with a fireplace in it.  There is some concern about fire codes and safety so they do not burn a fire in it anymore, but they still speak fondly of sitting around the hearth on Thursday nights as the glowing embers died out. 
Me, I just thought I had stepped into a hunting lodge.  I could not believe this was a Kingdom Hall.  I'd have been more accepting of one of those grass thatched huts in Papua New Guinea.
Then, on the left hand side, there is a walk-in closet.  It was August, so I had no idea what it was for.
Long before February, I realized it was the coat closet.  In the south, we had a few peg hooks that were mostly used for hats.  And, no hearth.
But the halls here all have kitchens in them, well, the two I have been in.  That's kind of cool.  So when we moved here in August we still had book studies until January, so we were assigned to the Hall group, and that kitchen sure made for a fine snack night.  Also, a lot of the time in East Hills, as there were visiting speakers, the study groups would host the meal at the hall out of that kitchen, and the whole group would have lunch together.  Kind of nice. 
So the first goody night rolls around, and my toes got squashed.  I brought a close-cousin of the coconut cream pie.  I brought two chocolate pies.  I knew that wouldn't be enough, but you know, there would be other food.  I must have made a thousand of those pies in Arkansas, and I can still go down a list and tell you who likes what.  Scott is coconut, and so is Dena, but Dena is gluten-free so I thickened hers with corn starch instead of flour and she got "pudding" instead of pie - no crust.  But I could make her happy.  And Loretta was chocolate.  I'll tell you a story about that next time.
I could make those pies with nutra sweet for Bob the diabetic and I could also make nana pudding.  We had a district overseer who once said at a circuit assembly, if you don't know what nana pudding is brothers, I feel sorry for you.
So we go to goody night, getting to know our new group, and someone brings a Jell-O nana pudding.  You know, from the box.  My pies were from scratch.
There is a brother in East Hills, a beautiful bald brother,  named Aaron Christian Abraham.  He's ten years younger than me and single, and let me tell you, I got my comeuppance because I used to pray for a mate and I said Jehovah, it would be nice if he had a Bible name that started with the letter A.  I don't know why I like that, but I do.  I like the names Andrew and Abel and Adam.  I'm inordinately fond of Amos.  And if Jehovah wanted to go another step, I would like a bald brother.  I'll tell you that story someday too.
So I wondered if this was evidence of a sense of Godly humor or what.  When I met Aaron, I saw his name on his Bible, and I said, "Dude, seriously, are your parents anointed or what?"
I mean really.  That is about the most JW name I ever saw.  That beats Brother Wisdom hands down.
So if he was only 20 years older he'd be perfect. 
At the goody night, the box pudding was eaten in entirety, and I brought 1.75 pies home.  Two of 16 slices were eaten, both by Aaron.
I cried a lot harder over that than Jace's mattress.  I could not believe after seeing people get dessert first at countless get togethers to be assured of getting my pie, of people begging for this or that of my specialties for showers and receptions and anniversaries, that I brought home 1.75 chocolate pies.
I called Loretta with the news.  If anything, she cried harder.  We tried to figure out how to mail the leftover pie back home where it would be appreciated for the work of culinary art we both considered it to be.
I was miffed.  It took me most of my first year here to understand the meaning of regional culinary palates.  A lot of people here just don't do "southern cuisine" all that well.  I know they look at us and think well no wonder they are overweight. 
I didn't even speak to Sister Jell-O for about a month after that.
Then it hit me.  One of the best things about me as a sister in the south was being a good cook.  And Satan found a way to use that against me the minute I moved.  I am fostering division in my new congregation over my pies.
I mean, in a way, I had to say oh what a yet further example of a crafty act.  I admire the old devil for being so devious, so complicated in his thinking.  That took some thinking, and yes, I over think and admire over thinking in others.
Sort of.  And it took a while but I finally found a sister here, Elsie, who will request my chocolate pie.  I thank Jehovah for Aaron and Elsie when I think about pie.  And that was my first time to group my southern and my northern congregations together in my head, the first time I felt like I belonged in a culinary way to both places.
What do you think they would make of my pies in Saipan?  They have coconuts and bananas already.  :)