Family unit preserved as the early bird gets the pie

My mother-in-law is a complex woman who carries a distinct list of likes and dislikes. I have spent most of the past 37 years balanced on a flaming tightrope over the narrow, gray area in between. And while I’m far beyond the need to seek affirmation from crotchety grown-ups, I do what I must in the name of family harmony. This is why I drove to Apple Creek before sunrise last Saturday to pick up the pie for our Christmas Eve gathering.

The decree had come down from on high weeks before: “Kristin, you and John will bring the pies, one cherry and one apple, and they must be actual Amish pies from Amish Country.”

Such proclamations are not suggestions. They are commandments that carry the weight of law along with the promise of harsh punishment should they be compromised or worse yet ignored. Show up at the family party without the assigned menu item and a full year’s worth of scorn and ridicule will follow. And while Kristin’s sentence is typically reduced within weeks for good behavior, no such option seems to exist for me. (Apparently, I have “a problem with sincere apology” when it comes to such things.) I’ve spent many a year in son-in-law purgatory for various infractions. It’s not a pretty place to be.

Kristin and I have been busted before for offering pies that were determined to have not come from the specific geographic region known as Amish Country. How Jackie figured this out remains a mystery. (However, in retrospect, I did notice a black helicopter hovering nearby when I’d walked out of the Super Giant Mart a half mile from her house with the knockoff pies that day.)

Absent from the entire discussion, of course, is the idea that Kristin and I would attempt to make the pies ourselves. Trust me, I’ve suggested it, and given that we technically live at the edge of Amish Country, it would have made an honest offering. But neither of us wanted to risk exposing our shamefully weak baking chops, so that idea died a quick and merciful death.

Kristin was determined we should show up this year with proper pies from the proper place, and so it was that we found ourselves at Troyer’s Home Pantry three days before Christmas. Embarrassed neophytes to the pie-buying rituals of the holiday season, we presumed we could simply walk in at any hour of the day and grab the pie of our choice as if picking up a gallon of vitamin D at the supermarket.

Prior to our afternoon arrival, however, the pie selection had been winnowed down to a random handful of berry offerings and an incredibly tempting pair of pumpkin pies on the bargain rack. Given my years in the doghouse, I felt I had nothing to lose by showing up with the pumpkin pies, and the knowledge that they were already a day old when I bought them would’ve been joyful retribution. Sadly, Kristin said even she would send me to purgatory if I deviated that far from the mission.

The kind lady behind the counter offered us this tip: If you want a cherry or apple pie, you need to arrive early in the morning. When asked how early was “early,” she gave us a wink and said, “Well, we open at seven o’clock.”

I was there when the doors opened with cash in hand and my pride underfoot. Would I win the Son-in-law of the Year award? Not by a long shot, but at least I’d have a bed to sleep in for another year.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.