Black-Bottom Peanut Butter Mousse Pie and Mama’s Ring

We’ve been on vacation for about a month now, and this would explain the many random Instagram photos, tweets, and lack of blog posts.

How have you been?  We haven’t talked in awhile, and that makes me sad.  Welcome back.  Pull up a chair and a cup of coffee and stay awhile. 

One of the places we went was Colorado to visit my family and friends.  It was such a fun trip, and people always say it, but I’m here to confirm just how wonderful fresh mountain air really is.  But, more on that later.

Because right now we have a Black-Bottom Peanut Butter Mousse Pie to worry ourselves with.  My mama and I made this pie when I went to Colorado.  Well truthfully, she did most of the work, I took pictures and tasted.

But, it’s delicious.  It’s a chilled pie, so it really melts in your mouth and the graham cracker crust does wonders to your soul.

And that is how my mama and dad are, too.

See this ring?  It used to be on my mom’s hand and now it’s on mine.  She is always giving my sister and I jewelry when we go home to visit.  And this ring is very special.

You see, before I was born my dad had to have vital surgeries and the possible outcomes were horrific.  There was talk of non-recovery because these surgeries involved two vital, vital organs: his brain and heart.  The story of how these came to be is for another post, but what you need to know is what that has to do with this ring.

It’s the second surgery and my mom is waiting in the hospital for it be over and for the doctor to come out in his white coat and tell her she can go in and see her husband.  And she’s wandering around the hospital gift shop because at a time like this you want to move to keep your mind off the situation at hand, but you dare not travel too far.  And so there she was, perusing the gift shop.  And her eyes land on this ring.  The one that was on her hand and is now on mine.

She bought that ring, the one that was on her hand and is now on mine.  While her husband is in open heart surgery.  She did so, with a promise that she would wear it everyday and remember these surgeries and remember that God took care of them; saw them through it, and that all was well.  All was well when the surgeries were over, and it still is.

And she gave me that ring. The one that she bought when her husband, my dad, was in open heart surgery.  Her promise has become mine and her reminders are now mine as well.

My visits home are good for my soul.