Fugit Fugit

Last week flew quicker'n a giblet to a thigh.

Hmmm. Even I have no idea what that means.

Wednesday night, my sister and I continued our tradition. For at least 8 years (maybe more (at my age you lose count (and you also lose, um, huh?)) we've gotten together on the day before Thanksgiving and baked the Thanksgiving pies. We use my mom's recipe (which really is (by fiat and acclaim) the best pie recipe in the contiguous 48 (and half of Mexico)).

We baked three of 'em -- one apple, and two pumpkin. After dinner I, of course, had three pieces of pie. The math seemed to dictate it.

There's (probably) no such thing as a bad pie (Sweeny Todd be damned), but these particular three were among the best pies I've ever had.

Between the feast and dessert (and post-holiday gut-stuffing), I juuuust might have to break out the Tai Bo dvd, huh?