Time to make the crust

Even after arthritis knurled her knuckles, Mom would roll out the pie crust. While she mastered the rolling of the dough, it's one of the few kitchen tasks that still intimidates me. But this Thanksgiving, she's not here to make the pie. In recent years before her death, I think even Mom bought her pie shells at the store. Lingering in my mind like the white puffs of flour clinging to my shirt, is my memory of her and the wooden rolling pin that sometimes squeaked as it turned. Around holidays and any time she wanted to please us, Mom would bake a pie. Each red circle on her rolling cloth marked the circumference needed for different size pans. My task - the first on my list this morning - was to roll the pie dough in a 12" circle. I had made the dough around midnight and then read the recipe's hours-long process of getting it ready for the oven. So, I slept on it. As I looked at that 4-inch lump on the counter, I knew it was either going to wind up cradling a triple chocolate chunk pecan pie or thrown up against a wall in despair. I prayed for the former. Eureka. It worked, even with a nasty fumble on my part in transfering the dough. Thanks Mom. Happy Thanksgiving.
-- Liz