Music And Pastry In The Air

Imagine, for a moment, a centennial country home, three floors and an attic, enough pies to stack to that third story, and enough people to devour it all. And did I mention the music?

This is a Pie Party.

Once upon a time, I met some Hags.

It started with friend, active citizen, and twotime podcast guest, Mike Moroz. He called me one morning and said “Justin, I’ve got a great guest for your show.” He went on to describe this trio of ladies, The Winsome Hags, self-described as musical, mature of age, and, perhaps, a tad weird. Also, ton of fun. Our interview session was a blast. So much fun, I had them as a guest again soon after, this time along with Glen and our live show at the Acorn Theater (that show’s recording will be coming to the podcast soon!).

During our conversations, it became clear the ladies had a thing for pies. Indeed, pies were a large part of our live show with them. There was even a situation involving pie parts flying at my face. And over and over again came up this term…”pie party”.

Pastries galore, pies in categories, a house full of musicians. I politely requested an invite to the next event. And, oh, it was an event.

First, the pies.

It should be made abundantly clear that this was but one of the tables. Abundant, indeed.

This particular event had three categories:

1. Sweet: Pretty much what you’d expect, but revealing a variety of flavors one never knew existed, a seemingly unending stream of classifications, some quite artfully presented (seriously, there were Star Wars pies).

2. Savory: The home of the pizza pie. The meat pie. All the good things one should consume before moving on to the dessert pastries (not that any of us followed that order).

3. Performance: My chosen category (did I mention the presenting of one’s own contribution was most certainly required?). There were songs. There were flames. There were pies floating in the sky. There was my own, the Pun Pie, a pastry stuffed with terrible jokes that only a math teacher could love.

Hordes arrived. Pies were delivered. Registered (all very official). Admired. Devoured. And voted upon.

And really, all of that was just the start. Soon, the house filled with music.

Wander from room to room and be delighted by the magic within. The kitchen, holding an active guitar lesson, with student and teacher soon joined by a wandering fiddler and passing harmonocist. A group larger than a full band packed into the second floor bedroom. Someone would be playing, another would wander in and join mid-song before even taking a seat. Instruments of all shapes, sizes, and sounds. If it had strings, it was there.

Mosey from room to room, floor to floor. Pie in hand, in bellies. Music in the air. Joy in the heart.

The Pie Party.


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