I really miss seasons.
I know there are some who would argue, “But California does have seasons…they’re just different!” And they’d be right, technically. But, I must say that the vague, mild “springtime” of southern California is no substitute for the full resurrection glory that East Coasters experience yearly. 
My parents are moving to Georgia. This is big news, as I’ve never known them to live in a house other than the one I grew up in. I’m sure most kids are somewhat attached to their houses, but I think I surpassed most. When I was about eight, I took a pencil and drew a square on the wall in my closet and pretended that it was a portal into a secret planet of my own creation. (The continent had several countries, including Girl Land, Starland, and Heartland….Heartland was the most important one, FYI.) Every time I heard rumors that we might move, I would write anxiously about the repercussions of this dreaded idea in my journal…journals…(I went through them pretty quickly.) The gist was that if we moved, some other inferior child would figure out how to enter my secret world!! Oh the indignity.
So now my parents really are moving, it looks like, and this may have been my last visit to the old house. Even though I’ve lived many other places (at least five) since moving out six years ago, it will still be a little bittersweet to hear that this house has been sold. I hope some other little girl can find magic there.
My mom and I made a pie with the last of the frozen raspberries from their harvest last summer. We didn’t need a recipe. We used an olive oil based crust, some honey, nutmeg, sugar, flour, and lemon juice. 
Thanks, Mom, for all of the other long-since-eaten pies that have been made on this same little round table!
“hadn’t given it much thought
hadn’t been back here for a while
everything looks so small
seen through the memories of a child
who would dream and stare
from that second story window
that was my whole world,
it was all I knew
like the hull of a seed this old house cracked wide open
and I flew”
~Sara Groves, This House 
ones. You may be familiar with them. In case you aren’t, the premise is that individuals communicate their love for others/want to be communicated to in a certain way…for example, physical touch. (From my experience, people either really like this concept, are really annoyed by it, or just really don’t care. My apologies if you belong to one of the second two groups, I promise this won’t be a lengthy dissertation.) My point is that when I read the original book (as you do when you’re dating and you’re curious if you speak the same love languages as your significant other) I was of the opinion that if your love language was “Gifts” instead of “Quality Time” or “Words of Affirmation,” you were probably pretty shallow. So naturally, when I took the little quiz the book gives you, I scorned any answers that made it sound like I would prefer gifts to any other type of lovin’. I guess I cheated a little, because years later I have come to the conclusion that–alas–I am, in reality, a GIFTS PERSON…a hoarder of wrapping paper, a maker of handmade cards, and a pie-baking fool. Don’t judge me! I like hugs too. And I’ll love you if you mop my floors. I just generally find that I show love by giving physical things to my friends. And since I like to bake and cook, if I love you, chances are high that I’ll try to feed you.
The Peace of Pie 