A friend of mine who happens

to also be on staff at one the newspapers that prints my column says she

always gasps when I announce right off that I am about to do some confessing.

I suspect no formal confessional

could ever hold a candle to what this space has been on occasion. I can

only hope she's ready for this one. She will recognize right off how it

could so easily be she who would have to confess if the same temptation

ever came her way.

It's chocolate sin again. But

not just any chocolate. Oh, no not at all. It's Sadie's chocolate. Her

chocolate pies to be specific.

Sadie is one of Daniel's sisters.

She is the sister-in-law that most folks only dream about. She's really

pretty amazing in many areas but when it comes to chocolate pies she is

unsurpassed.

For every family occasion she

makes two of those pies. There are from 18 to 30 or 35 folks usually at

a typical family function, depending on the time of the year and the occasion.

But she always makes just two pies.

I have been known to cut my

sliver prior to eating the main meal. I know what my priorities are. And

nobody ever gets two pieces of pie. One, it's so rich you just can't,

and two, if you dared try, somebody would swat your hand with a reminder

that there has to be enough to go around. Somehow there always is.

Perhaps I should get on with

my story my confession, that is.

Last weekend we had the whole

clan at our place. There were 32 - 34 people. I made brownies and oatmeal,

chocolate chip, walnut cookies, both of which I thought would be fun eating

and easy snitching throughout the day. Sadie made and brought a banana

pudding and her two chocolate pies.

I'm not sure just how it happened.

But somehow, there was a whole pie left. Unsliced. Untouched. A whole

pie!

I suppose Sadie must have picked

up on the distress I thought I was hiding at the thought of that pie leaving

my house and going back home with her.

Miraculously and compassionately

she offered. "MJ, why don't you just slide this pie out of my serving

dish and keep it. I need to take the dish with me but I don't really want

to take that pie back home"

I'm no fool. I didn't even

pretend to politely protest. I quickly took that pie plate and did exactly

as she suggested. Then I slipped it into the refrigerator. I prayed nobody

had witnessed the action.

The next day, everybody was

finally gone. The house was quiet. Daniel was out. The pie was calling

my name.

With tremendous respect I retrieved

it from its refrigerated place of hiding. I sat it on the counter and

debated. Would I - could I? What would happened if I...? No, I absolutely

could not eat the whole thing. Well, actually I probably could, but I

just couldn't. So I devised a plan.

I cut the pie into eight equal

pieces. Every day for the rest of the week (it was the "week"

following Labor Day weekend and it started on Tuesday) I would have a

sliver for breakfast and another sliver for lunch.

I followed my plan. I have

no regrets. No guilt. No remorse. Really no need for confession now that

I think about it. Perhaps I'm just gloating.

At one point there was a twinge

of something that remotely resembled guilt. Maybe it was when I remembered

that, though the pie was well hidden, the scales were still in plain view.

Then I remembered a physician

I interviewed one time. I had asked her about her own life-style and specifically,

I had asked what her children ate for breakfast. "Usually cake,"

she had said.

She saw the expression on my

face. "Well, cake is healthier than a lot of the cereals out there."

I can only imagine how her

kids would appreciate Sadie's homemade (crust and all) chocolate pie!

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