Library Pie, I am tempted to name you Honesty Pie.

On Thursday, I was checking out books at the library (the ones you recommended) and I caught myself bursting into the most simple of smiles.  I uncontrollably, and very sappily, blurted to the librarian, “I love coming to the library.  I just love it.”  And with my mittened hand to my winter-coated heart, I added, “I love it so much that I couldn’t keep from telling you that.”  This kind, middle-aged librarian and her slightly older co-worker smiled sweetly back at me in my childlike state.  “That makes our night,” they said and I could see honesty in their eyes.  It held me.

As I walked out into the snowy evening, I rolled that conversation around in my head a few more times until it came out as a pie.  I put 5 cups of flour, 5 tablespoons of butter, 1/2 a cup of cold water, a pinch of salt, and a pinch more of sugar into a bowl.  I stirred it up and put it the fridge.  Then I took my 8 most truthful pears from all corners of the world, peeled them, sliced them, and arrayed them in a deep bowl.  I doused them to taste with cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar, and a teaspoon or two of cloves because honesty is flavored by our personal pallets.

I rolled out my crust from my tip toes to my finger tips and laid half of it in a glass pie pan.  In went the pears, on went a cup of chopped pecans, and over went the other half crust.  I pinched the sides to hold in the truth, the honesty, the realness.  I cut a heart in  the top, and a few stars to guide it home to a friend.  Brushing on the egg wash, I gave my pie a smile and wink.  “You’ll be all beautiful and golden, Honesty.”  Then it went into the oven for a good 75 minutes of 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

I shared my honesty with a few friends last night.  I shared it in the form of library pie, fresh whipped cream, violin strings, Pavlova’s tutu, flower skirts, elderberry syrup, drums, texted poetry, sketch books, and circuit board wallets.  It held me.  The honesty held me most.