And the Meaning of Life Is...

“Herbert, I’ve been thinking,” said Nellie as she sat opposite her husband at the kitchen table.

“Um-hmm,” said Herbert, continuing to read his newspaper.

“I’ve been thinking about the meaning of life.”

Herbert glanced up. “And did you come to any conclusions?”

“Yes, I believe I did.”

“Well what is it, pray tell? Please unfold your revelation to the world.”

“Herbert, I’m serious.” Herbert turned the page.

“Dr. Flannery said today, now that the children are gone and Mother has died, I need to find some new meaning in my life.”

“He should know, for the money you pay him.”

“Please. Just listen.”

Herbert lowered the paper. “Yes, dear, you have my complete attention. What do you believe is the meaning of your life?”

“Can’t you be serious for once?” Nellie said, disgusted.

“You have 60 seconds; better start telling me.”

“All right. One thing that used to matter to me was cooking.”

“Before you started harping on me about my cholesterol, that is.”

“I used to bake really good pies. I’d like to be the best pie baker in Sherwood. I would like to bake those extra big pies, and sell them at the farmers’ market, and raffle them off for charities, and maybe sell them to the Fireside Inn.” Nellie’s voice became more and more excited as she talked. “Maybe I could even start a little bakeshop. Or a pie and coffee restaurant. What would you say to that?”

“I’d say your 60 seconds are up,” he replied, and picked up his newspaper again.

Nellie began to cry. She cleared the table in silence, and loaded the dishwasher. She put away the leftovers, and wiped off the table. All evening she was quiet, and Herbert seemed not to notice. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

She said nothing, but she was thinking. She would experiment with one kind of pie a week, and try out different recipes. This was berry season. Mile High Strawberry Pie--that would be an excellent start. She would use all the biggest, best Klicker berries she could find. And the smaller ones that came in the flats, well, she’d make Strawberry Rhubarb Pie out of those. Yes, that was a wonderful idea. Maybe she should take orders. Or have people over for taste tests. Oh yes, that would be fun! Taste test parties for starters, then orders. This was going to be a whole new life!

In bed that night, visions of pastry floated before her eyes. Herbert gave her a peck of a kiss on the cheek, and patted her head, but she hardly noticed; and when she smiled, he thought she was smiling back at him.

Next evening when Herbert arrived home, the counters were covered with sumptuous pies. Crusts teemed with berries glistening with glaze. The sweet tart odor of rhubarb made his mouth water.

“I think I’ve found the meaning of life,” Herbert said. “It’s rhubarb pie!”

"This is my meaning, Herbert. You'll have to find your own."

500 words