I Miss Mayberry

Pie is the answer to all things wrong with life.

This morning I went down the market. While I was driving through the parking lot, I put my car to a stop to allow an elderly gentlemen to cross the parking lot over to the area where the cars were parked. After he had crossed where my car was, he fell down. Face first ladies and gentlemen, he fell into an island of grass and rocks and flowers. He had to be at least 85, and alone.

No one cared.

Everyone kept on walking, kept on driving.

Everyone.

Everyone except me. After I saw him fall, I stopped my car to help him. Everyone was honking and someone almost hit me trying to go around. So fine, I parked my car and went to find him to see if I could help. None, I repeat none of the people rushing by him in the busy busy town of Malibu, felt the need to help him. I could already see that he had a newly developed hobble and a bruise. As I assisted him to his car, he said he didn't need anything. As I watched him drive away, I cried a little inside. I cried for California - for people who don't have "home" even in a place they have lived in all of their lives. I cried tears of joy for Texas, where everyone would stop for him, and a tear of seperation from my home. All of these tears were only on the inside of course, but as I searched for a gallon of 2% milk for supper tomorrow, they nearly surfaced.

Oh well, I need apples for pie. Ah, pie!! There's the rub!

A dear young man here I have had the opportunity to make friendswith once told me that if I ever got to busy to hang out, he'd just make me a pie. He said because I am who I am, he would never assume at my failure to answer his phone calls that I was ignoring him or otherwise being rude. He would know that I was simply too busy, or maybe ill. If I were ill, he told me, he'd bring me soup. If I were busy he said he'd make me a pie - from scratch. A pie from scratch - that reminds me of Abilene, where we'd make each other pies and cookies and the like. What he said is true, pie makes the busy slow down, it makes the cranky smile, and it makes the lonely belong.

Perhaps that's the key. Perhaps everyone in California is so cranky, and rude, and un-friendly because they don't have pie here.

I hope I have enough flour.