The Life of Pie - The First Slice
Love Wins
Grandma Harriett & Elke ~ Taking in some sunshine and fresh sea breeze
Life moves fast—like a runaway train and a snail having a race… and somehow the snail wins every time. Blink, and you’re closing in on another decade. I’ve been graced with life for over five of those now. Quick math? That puts me somewhere between my first birthday and heaven—assuming I ride this rollercoaster all the way to centenarian status. Why a hundred? People ask. My short answer? I’ve still got a whole bakery’s worth of stories to share, moments to savor, and pies to bake. This life is meant to be fully lived. So… here I am.
Eleanor Roosevelt once wrote,
“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.”
Rich Words of Wisdom
When I read those words out loud, every part of me lights up. It feels risky and romantic all at once—like standing on the edge of something big with brightly colored sprinkles of hope on top.
But if I pause long enough to take one deep breath—not fear the future or the next step—I’d likely land right in the middle of a new rich experience. And that’s where I sometimes get stuck… somewhere in the step. Maybe I think too much. Maybe I was born to color outside the lines. Actually, forget "maybe." I know I was. My Poor Mom—I must’ve come out the womb with a passport in one hand and a whisk in the other.
So let’s rewind a bit.
For the first 18 months of my life, I spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals in Los Angeles. I was born with a major birth defect—a cleft palate. In the 1960s, that was no small thing. Medical procedures, equipment, expertise? Not what they are now. Imagine being twenty, newly married, and bringing home a daughter without the roof of her mouth, with a tongue that might never grow the way it should. Fear? Yeah. Fear had a seat at the table. But love never gave up its seat.
Multiple surgeries. Skin grafting. At one point, I was cast from mid-chest upward in plaster—arms out, as if I was permanently posing for the YMCA. (I came this close to being the letter "Y" before the dance even existed.) But my parents—they did it. Through every challenge, every uncertain night, they showed up. Loved me. Worked hard. Stayed together. I’m deeply grateful.
And there was someone else who showed up too—my grandmother, Harriett Kerns. During those early months, she stepped in with arms full of faith and a heart bursting with love. I’m pretty sure that’s when we formed our soul-deep bond. She was my prayer warrior, my quiet cheerleader, my encourager, my whisper of wisdom when the world got loud. She inspired me to believe there was always more to reach for.
That love—steady, faithful, sometimes tough—helped me to carve the path forward. Grateful.
And you know what I’ve learned so far? Love wins. Every time. It’s woven into my faith, my relationships, my setbacks and comebacks. This isn’t just a story about me—it’s a reminder for you too: to keep going, keep creating, keep loving. And when life gets messy or sweet or wild, bake another pie and share another slice.
In my nine-inch pies, I get seven slices. Which means I have plenty of stories to share—and yes, a few leftovers. And those leftovers? Mmm… they might just be the best part.
Catch you on the next bake.
With Love,
Tamara
