After Copenhagen, after the climate bill died in the Senate, after 20 years of trying to puncture the pathological denial that afflicts our culture, I needed something easy and perfect. I needed piedealism.
But I was intimidated by making pie crusts. They’d always be too dry or too heavy, and they’d invariably start falling apart or sticking before I ever got them into the pie plate.
That was before I met Barbara. For my fiftieth birthday, friends gave me pie making lessons with this high priestess of Flake. I fear crusts no more, and I crank out pies with abandon.
The upward slope of my pie crust quality tracks along in pathetic inverse parity with the downward slope of the prospects for national climate policy. Yup, the pie is that good.
Someday, we shall overcome. The arc of history will find its way to justice, and we will step up and pass a responsible national climate policy. I can only hope that my pies will be perfect by then. Should the approach of real climate solutions cause my pie quality to slip, well, I suppose it will be worth it.
There will always be Barbara’s pies.