'Save your fork, dear' a welcome reminder

It lets us know that best is yet to come.

By AMANDA J. MILLARD

Special to The Capital-Journal

Their once was this little old lady whom all knew and loved. One day, she became severely sick, so she called her priest, in to let him know her final wishes. "I want to be buried with a fork in my hand," said the little old lady. Respecting her final wishes, the priest said, "I will make sure you are buried with a fork in your hand." The priest started to walk away but with a puzzled look on his face he slowly turned around. "I have to ask you why, why would you want to buried with a fork," asked the priest.

"If you think about family meals, like Christmas, you eat an elaborate meal, yet someone always tells you to 'save your fork, dear.' This means the best is yet to come --- dessert," said the little old lady. "And, I would like to think, that the best is yet to come for me too."

After hearing this story, "save your fork, dear" became one of my favorite sayings. With this one little spoken line, you know that the best is yet to come. In our family's case this always meant homemade pies.

With all of the traditions, associated with holidays, few of them make your mouth water like this one. Like most other families, our holidays revolve around the monstrous meals that are prepared for that special occasion. There is nothing like an elaborate home- cooked meal, and seeing the stuffed tummies of your friends and family.

At Christmas, not only does our family carry along the tradition of eating, but also preparing the food. One thing that had been a tradition in our family is the making of the pies. My mother taught me how to make them, her mother taught her and so on.

Although the recipe is the same from generation to generation, each pie seems to carry with it the characteristics of those who make it.

"For our family, pies are a form of art created by the heart and filled with love," said Marjorie Miller, my grandmother.

Not only is each pie's top crust carved differently, but you can always tell Grandma's pie from mine. Practice makes perfect, and nothing beats a pie made by my grandma. No matter how many different pies she makes, for the occasion, I still manage to try at least one, if not two, slices of each succulent pie.

I am grateful that Grandma taught my mother how to make these golden brown pies. It has allowed my mother to carry the tradition one generation further, by teaching me. Even when I was little, my mother never seem to care about all of the flour that trickled to the hardwood floor, or how we both looked as though we had been through a blizzard when done baking.

"I never cared about the mess that we made, because I knew that the memories we were making were more important," said Cris Millard, my mother.

In most families, traditions aren't hard to come by, but I haven't run across one yet that tastes so good.

One day, when I have children, I look forward to teaching them the secrets of making homemade pies good enough to save your fork for.

Amanda Millard is a graduate of Washburn University now living in Manhattan.

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