Gran Anne's Grasshopper Pie

Since moving to Austin, I have received a lovely gift from my dad on birthdays, Christmas, and other holidays. Dad found a pie maker in Austin willing to make me grasshopper pie from Gran Anne's famous recipe. The first time the pie was delivered to the church, I found out that our Chef, Ray, associate rector and friend, Ken, and my dad had been in cahoots to surprise me. I was speechless. Dad has continued the lovely trend. Earlier this week we received an email from the chef at "Pie Fixes Everything," asking if they could feature Gran Anne's recipe in their Pies for Charities program. We were able to chose a charity of our choice, for whom a portion of the proceeds from the Grasshopper pie will be designated for the entire month of August. If you're in, around, or near Austin, or know someone who is, please send them this delicious pie to benefit the Trinity Center. Who doesn't love pie??? Below is the posting on the Pies Fix Everything Facebook page, along with the family story of the pie.

Pies for Charities: August Pie is "Gran Anne's Grasshopper Pie" This is a Magill Family favorite. Swing by our booth this weekend Cedar Park Farms to Market or HOPE Farmers Market and pick one up. They have chosen The Trinity Center as their Charity. Here's a little about Gran Anne!

My grandmother, Gran Anne, was good at many things. However, she absolutely excelled at spoiling her grandchildren. Among the life credos I learned from her is that you may always eat dessert first, provided there’s dairy involved. Gran Anne was also an excellent baker. While there are many dishes for which she is well known, her grasshopper pie is the stuff of legends. It was a real treat when I was first allowed to help make the pie. Often we had to search all over town for the chocolate graham cookies to crumble for the crust. The quest was well worth it to spend time learning how to make this favorite delicacy with Gran Anne. Laboring through the process of the recipe only increased my feeling of being the most important person in the world as the recipient of this pie. But really, she was the best grandmother for always making us feel as though we were the light of her world. As grand kids, we learned to look forward to family members’ birthdays, just so we had an excuse to eat the pie. Now, I’ll make the pie on a whim because it reminds me of the best gift of all - time spent with my grandmother.

Gran Anne with children, nieces & nephews, and grandchildren on her 80th Birthday.

A Strongly Worded Letter

Dear people with money who pay to have certain sports broadcast, networks, and all other guilty parties,

Welcome to the 21st century. In the United States, women are allowed to play and even excel at most things in society - careers, family life, sports, extra curricular activities - just to name a few. So here's my question, why do you continue to broadcast and publicize with such inequality? I've heard the laundry list of reasons - men's sports attract a bigger audience, make more money, allow for more scholarships, etc. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps if you were to start giving women's sports half the coverage you gave to men's sports, some of those aforementioned "effects" might change?

Clearly, this doesn't take a rocket scientist to dream up a few creative solutions. I, for one, am sick of women's tennis, golf, and college basketball being broadcast at non-prime hours on cable channels only. Really? Still???

Get with the program.

Love,

Irritated Viewer #1

"March"

A few months back I decided to re-read Little Women because I found the copy that my great-grandmother had given to Gran Anne (my grandmother) when she was nine, in 1930. It was comforting to read from the same pages that my grandmother once read from. I often found myself wondering if my great-grandmother had read aloud to Gran Anne, and what her love for the classic story had entailed.

This past week I read March by Geraldine Brooks. The women in Louisa May Alcott's famous novel are based loosely off of her own sisters' lives. We get to know Marmee in bits and pieces, but there's very little light shed on the person of Mr. March. Geraldine Brooks capitalized on this gap in the family tree. Based loosely on the life of Louisa May Alcott's father, Mr. March is an Army Chaplain who got his start as a peddler on the East Coast and was intermittently a school teacher. He was incredibly dedicated to the abolitionist movement, which ended up occupying most of his life's ventures.

I can't help but wonder how often I have overlooked the underdeveloped characters and failed to see the full picture. The letters that Mr. March sends home from war are the closest the reader ever comes to getting to know the women's father. I had always "read" those letters as lovely and endearing - a father pouring his heart and soul out to his daughters and wife. But what if his letters were almost entirely an evasion of his travels and accounts? Mr. March and Marmee experience a heartbreaking rift when the truth is revealed. Mr. March pleads that he was doing his best to protect his women. Marmee feels betrayed and heartbroken. I, personally always relating closest with Meg and wishing I might be one of the girls, feel a mix of privilege in glimpsing the truth and desire to remain in the dark.

We'll never know how close to "true" Brooks' vision for Mr. March's life was, or if Alcott would have approved, but I couldn't help but relish the opportunity to let my imagination run wild. At it's best, this is what fiction allows us to do - entirely escape into another world and momentarily feel as though we can walk in another's shoes. After all, is there any little woman out there who hasn't envisioned herself dancing around the maypole with the sisters at one time or another?

Legacies

There are many lessons I learned from my grandmother, Gran Anne. One of the most remarkable things that I have inherited from her is a love of sports. Granted, she did not grow up in a time and place where it was acceptable for her to compete - so I have no idea what that would have been like. Gran Anne did remain fiercely loyal to her favorite teams, mainly - the University of Tennessee, where my dad attended. Whenever UT games were on TV, you could guarantee that her shouts of "Whoopeee" and "Weeee!!!" would resonate throughout the house.

On Sunday, a friend gifted me two tickets to see the University of Tennessee play the University of Texas in women's basketball. Gran Anne had lots of favorite teams and players, but near the top of her list was Pat Summitt. We had many conversations about her winning record, and the battles she fought to be a respected female coach. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the awe I felt watching Pat Summitt yesterday, knowing that it was directly attributable to Gran Anne.

The best part of the whole experience was getting to share it with one of my favorite six year olds. He'd never heard of Pat Summitt, so I got to share bits of the coach's story with him. Gran Anne's legacy reaches yet another generation. "Weeee!!!" Go Vols!

Parable, of a not-so-different-kind

Parable

First divesting ourselves of worldly goods, as St. Francis teaches,
in order that our souls not be distracted
by gain and loss, and in order also
that our bodies be free to move
easily at the mountain passes, we had then to discuss
whither or where we might travel, with the second question being
should we have a purpose, against which
many of us argued fiercely that such purpose
corresponded to worldly goods, meaning a limitation or constriction,
whereas others said it was by this word we were consecrated
pilgrims rather than wanderers: in our minds, the word translated as
a dream, a something-sought, so that by concentrating we might see it
glimmering among the stones, and not
pass blindly by; each
further issue we debated equally fully, the arguments going back and forth,
so that we grew, some said, less flexible and more resigned,
like soldiers in a useless war. And snow fell upon us, and wind blew,
which in time abated — where the snow had been, many flowers appeared,
and where the stars had shone, the sun rose over the tree line
so that we had shadows again; many times this happened.
Also rain, also flooding sometimes, also avalanches, in which
some of us were lost, and periodically we would seem
to have achieved an agreement; our canteens
hoisted upon our shoulders, but always that moment passed, so
(after many years) we were still at that first stage, still
preparing to begin a journey, but we were changed nevertheless;
we could see this in one another; we had changed although
we never moved, and one said, ah, behold how we have aged, traveling
from day to night only, neither forward nor sideward, and this seemed
in a strange way miraculous. And those who believed we should have a purpose
believed this was the purpose, and those who felt we must remain free
in order to encounter truth, felt it had been revealed.

— LOUISE GLÜCK, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and author, most recently, of “A Village Life”

Sane/Fearful Signs

While I did not have the privilege of attending the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear, I did enjoy watching coverage and have loved hearing stories from friends who were able to attend. One of my favorite stories was of the atmosphere on the mall before the rally even began. Two friends arrived a few hours before the festivities began to secure a spot close to the stage. As they walked through the crowd and finally settled into their spot, they shared this observation, "Everyone was reading!" Whether newspaper, books, magazine, or ipad - those gathered were reading. THOSE are my people - the readers!

While many of you may have seen the brilliant sinage from the event, I decided I'd share just a few of my favorites. Take note of the facial expressions of the sign holders.

Fall Favorites

The air was crisp, the cushion forgiving, and the colors muted. Cider simmered on the stove while the cool fall air floated in through the open porch door. Attendance was all but mandatory. Something homemade and delicious was always in process in the kitchen. Football season arrived every fall at my childhood home like clock work. I can still place every book on the shelf in it's proper place in my mind. I can sense the need for a blanket while I sprawl on the couch with the advent of the cooler fall weather. Dad always watched the first half of the game, but migrated to the backyard to water the plants when his team started losing. Though he could see the score through the main window, the lawn allowed a greater perimeter for pacing. Gran Anne always watched from her room, which shared a wall with the den. She liked to flip between games more than Dad or Jay did. We could always tell whether or not she was watching the same game based on the harmony of cheers. I'm certain that there were weekends when I had homework, or should have. But my memories consist of lazy, delicious afternoons sprawled in the den with the family.

For the longest time, I was the professional antagonist in the family. Whomever the family was cheering for I cheered against - because I could. Mind you, I was not simply attentive to the game but purposefully obnoxious on every call. My brother was a statistical sponge - able to recite the virtues of any player or team for the last forty years at the drop of a hat. It drove me crazy. Mom, Dad, & Gran Anne had a lifetime of loyalties to offer. It seemed to me that the other teams deserved a fighting chance as well, and my ardor was the key to their success. As you can only imagine, that didn't go over well.

It strikes me that the family teams have now become "my teams." Whether it's time or unlikely maturity that has developed, football season is undeniably my favorite. Although I'm sure my family does not have pleasant memories of my presence in the midst of our football Satur/Sun-days, it is one of my fondest recollections. There are few things in life that transport me in such a palpable way.

So, to my favorite season: welcome back and please, stay a little longer this time. To my teams: here's to hoping. To the family: save me a spot on the couch!