So, I'll never win the Pillsbury Bake-Off. My life still has meaning, really, it does!

Our congregation is having a dinner and bake sale/auction tonight. It's an annual event, one of those looked-forward-to-all-year kind of things. The dinner is usually lackluster, which is being kind (the Scout troop puts it together and they're not exactly good cooks.) The auction, however, is a blast, the most fun we have together all year. (The money raised goes toward paying for the Scout's camp expenses, hence our enduring their cooking.) Everyone who has any baking skill brings their best dishes, and there are a few cooks, mostly older women, who are so talented that the bidding for their pies and cakes can rapidly get out of hand. It's worth going even if you aren't planning on buying anything just to watch the bidding wars that are sure to happen.

It's kind of sad the husband can't be here. He's coming home right after work, but it's such a long trip that he won't be home until around midnight probably. It will rest on my shoulders to try to get Peggy's pecan pie, and I fear I am not up to the challenge.

I'll be bringing Cherry-Blueberry Pie and Turtle Brownies (just regular fudge brownies made with pecans and with ice cream topping caramel in the middle.) My last year and my best effort yet to try to get some recognition as a cook. Yes, I'm competitive. Yes, I'm proud of my cooking. Unfortunately I'm trying to compete against people who have been cooking for 40 or 60 years. No wonder I can't bring in the big bucks. Well, after they taste my Cherry-Blueberry pie they'll be sorry! (Because I'm not coming back, not because I, like, spiked it or anything.)