“When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it’s not, mmmmmmmm, boy.”

—Jack Handy

Today’s story is contributed by Sue Marquis Bishop

When my father started talking about an old girlfriend’s cooking, my mom baked him this little number. He decided she was a keeper.

My mother prepared a formal dinner with dessert every night of the week for her husband and four children, and the six of us ate together, at the table in the dining room, Dad at one end and Mom at the other.

Old Fashioned Cream Pie

Whenever the dessert was cream pie, Dad would ask, “Did you know I married your mom because she made the best pie I ever ate?” Then he’d pause and chuckle. “Even better than Josephine’s pies,” he would add with a wink in my mom’s direction.

Then he’d retell the Marquis family story. My parents met on a blind date in Charleston, West Virginia, in the spring of 1938. She said he arrived at the door in a brown-checkered suit. His first words were, “Hi, I’m Harold Marquis. Do you want to go dancing?” READ MORE