Driving by this place on highway 96, somewhere between Ness City and Hayes. She began her heavenward journey on highway 96- I wonder if she knew where she was in those last moments. I know she knew the truth of these rocks on the hillside. Christ was her pilot. I hope she saw it on the way by, but maybe by then she was already experiencing His presence instead of His direction on earth.
Homemade Pie Crust: I tried. I made this one while I was "Home." It felt good to move around in her kitchen, but I missed her so. The crust wouldn't roll out right. I tried it three times, all with the same result. I finally pressed the crust into the pan in pieces. I didn't burn the meringue though. I will always think of her when I make pie, I may always think of her when I cook, which is strange because she didn't particularly enjoy it. No, she didn't enjoy being rushed, or hurried. Neither do I. Maybe I think of her because she called me, her youngest daughter for cooking tips. She always bragged about my cooking and baking skills. Maybe that's really why I think of her. I could sure use more tips on my pie crust!
Its keys haven't been touched in too long. The pages still open to what she must have been playing, maybe that morning. She played often on Sunday mornings, with hair dye in her hair. She loved to sing. I hear her voice so often in a hymn, but I'm so afraid I will forget how it sounded. I'm teaching myself to play, a little, but not the way she could. I can't read the stinkin' base cleft with any kind of proficiency. "Practice Makes Perfect." Right?