Memoirs of a Geisha--the movie

Last night I watched "Memoirs of a Geisha" to compare it to the book. As I normally say--the book was better than the movie! Surprise, surprise.
I really did like the scenery, and the characters--that really made everything worthwhile. The plot, however, lost a lot in the movie (as most do). I would still recommend it, though.

Lucky me, my nieces are visiting from Tampa this weekend! My in-laws are here as well, and I am so glad they were able to bring Kami (6 yrs.) and Kenzie (4 yrs.) along. Those two little stinkers certainly liven the place up and keep me on my toes. They're such a blessing to me, and my favorite part is that they think Aunt Tristin is the coolest! (I also think they're the coolest because they just told me of their new-found adoration of The Sound of Music! Does it get any better than twiriling around the living room and singing "The Sound of Music" with your nieces?)

Tonight I am making a lasagne for all of us, and tomorrow James is smoking some Boston Butts so we can have barbeque with all the works! Of course, we'll make our Famous Smoked Beans and my Asian Cole Slaw. Also, it's my father-in-law's birthday on Superbowl Sunday so we're having the carrot cake that made me his favorite daughter-in-law (well, technically his only daughter-in-law, but who's counting?).

Also, we have Chitty Chitty Bang Bang to watch tonight--yay!

Not a pie person.

Last night, James and I watched a wonderful film called Waitress. It starred Keri Russell as a pregnant waitress, wanting to escape her life (typical story, right?). So, throughout the movie, she makes pies in a way that most people would journal--her pies express her emotions and document what is going on in her life. I hope I explained that well--it's really a great idea.

So, I was thinking about pies last night, and recalled one of my family's classic memories. It took place at the bar in the kitchen of my Poppy and Granny's home, where the majority of our meals there were eaten. Every night, there was some kind of dessert after dinner, the standard being a classic pound cake which was always kept underneath an aluminum cake dome with a plastic handle and the word "CAKE" written on the side. This particular night, however, the dessert of the night was some sort of pie--apple, I think. I didn't particularly want dessert, so I decided to forgo the pie I had been offered. No harm, no foul, right?

A few nights later, I was again offered pie by my Poppy. Before I could unnter a word, my Granny quickly replied, "Bennett, Tristin is not a pie person."

My refusal that fateful night forever secured my destiny of not being a "pie person".

Truth be told, I really don't prefer pies. I like berry pie and key-lime pie, and certain lemon pies... But, beyond that, I guess it's true that I am not a "pie person". Anyhow, anytime that my immediate family has pie, someone reminds the family "Oh, don't give any to Tristin--she's not a pie person. Then we all have a big laugh.

The humor lies in the fact that in the South, you cannot just turn-down a piece of pie. Why on earth would any self-respecting Southerner (which I am not--I am merely the descendant of Southerners with an inherited thirst for sweet tea) refuse a piece of pie?

Lesson learned: Don't refuse food from a Southerner. (Besides, even if you do refuse, you'll often still find a plate placed in front of you and a fork will miraculously find its way into your hand.)