For some reason, I have pot pie on the brain.
It might be because it's about 8 billion below here in Minnesota today and something made of gravy and crust sounds really good. It might be that at least two of my Facebook friends have felt it necessary to mention their pot pie consumption in the last few days. It might be that I just came home from the grocery store—an experience that always makes me hungry for a magically delicious meal that never seems to materialize from what I pull out of the bags.
But I think the real reason I have pot pie on my mind is that it's one of those ultimate comfort foods. And this time of year, I could use some comfort.
Christmas is a week away and I haven't done a thing to get ready. Part of my logic is that we're going to visiting family for the week, so why bother dressing up the house for the cat to enjoy? But I've also found that my Christmas spirit is kind of shot this year. It has been a rough year for so many people I love—death, disease, and divorce seem to keep showing up in our e-mail inbox—and I find my heart is far too heavy to get excited about shopping and baking and decorating.
I just want someone to come over and make me a pot pie so I can warm up—emotionally, spiritually, and physically.
Even if I wasn't feeling the weight of the pain in my friend's lives, I think I'd still be having a hard time getting into Christmas. It always sneaks up on me and I find myself having to decide just how big a deal I can make about the whole affair and still ring in the New Year with a little sanity left. And the older I get, the less up I am for the challenge.1