Tomorrow is the third anniversary of the death of my maternal grandmother, Grandma Mercedes. She'd been very ill, and my poor mom had been from Virginia to Illinois to Tennessee to see Grandma through what felt to be the worst of some serious times. Mom had left her to come home to Tennessee for a bit and when she called me late in the afternoon she said, "Well, she did die." It seemed at the time that she should add, "...after all."

After all. After all that.

My grandmother's death came at a very dark and turbulent time in my family. It was the kick-off to some even worse times, and I have to say that even now we're a little up and a little down. Not healed by a longshot. My mom once commented that as an only child I had my grandparents as immediate family instead of brothers and sisters. This death, the middle of three that would take place in the too-short span of a year, was the halfway point of losing a chunk of my immediate family. (My maternal grandfather died when I was two, and I'm sad to say I have no memories of him. Only stories about his life and death. It's funny how I cherish the memories even of the deaths of my grandparents.) With the rest of my family falling apart around me, I clung to Neel and Callum like nobody's business and still couldn't avoid sinking into a despair so deep that even now I'm not sure I've completely clawed my way out.

The rituals of viewing and funeral for my grandmother were appalling and farcical. Great literary fodder, I know that for sure, but at the risk of those relatives I found so offensive stumbling across my little corner of the internet, I'll not report them here. Her funeral was not the chance to say good-bye that those of my other grandparent's had been and would be. I said good-bye to Grandma Mercedes during the regular Sunday service the day after the funeral, later that afternoon when my mom and I escaped her small apartment to sit for hours under the shade of the huge trees that lend such majesty to the place where she is buried, and when I slept in her bed, surrounded by her familiar scent a scant month later as my mom and I worked together to clear out her apartment.

The Buddhists have a great way with ceremonies and rituals, and I find a lot of comfort in the Ceremony for the Deceased (Found in The Plum Village Chanting and Recitation Book compiled by Thich Nhat Hanh...or as Lucy likes to say, "Tick Not On."). A particularly lovley part is the Mindfulness of the Deceased near the end.

Brothers and Sisters, it is time to bring to mind Mercedes and to send the energy of loving kindness and compassion to her. Let us sit and enjoy our breathing for a moment, allowing Mercedes to be present with us now.

Brothers and Sisters, please listen. The peace and joy of the entire world, including the worlds of the living and the dead, depend on our own peace and joy in this moment. With all our heart and one-pointed mind, let us begin anew for the benefit of ourselves and our beloved ones.

I love the idea of ritual in theory, it's the practice that I'm not so good at. I never pay close enough attention to the calendar to get the timing right, and just like with the energy-clearing and bell-ringing, I tend to feel a little self-conscious. I thought of my grandmother a lot as I peeled peaches for this peach pie. Our last visit with her was in 2003, a year before she died. We always seemed to visit in summer, peach time. And every time we visited, we'd drive down the lolling hills of the Illinois countryside to some remote orchard and bring home bushels of peaches. Drunk, by the time we made it home, on their scent alone. And then it was my mom and grandma peeling, peeling, peeling, adding sugar and nutmeg and rolling out pie crust.

This pie, a "Peaches and Cream" version came from a recipe given to Neel by a colleague. It couldn't be simpler.

1 piecrust

3 C sliced peaches

2/3 C sugar

1/4 C flour

1/4 t ground nutmeg

1 C whipping cream

1/4 C sliced almonds

Place crust in pan and preheat oven to 400. Toss peach slices with sugar, flour and nutmeg and pour into crust. Pour cream over peaches and bake 40 minutes. When cream is almost set and very lightly golden, sprinkle almonds over the pie and bake 10 minutes more. Pie should be fully set and almonds lightly toasted.

My grandmother was an amazing cook and baker, the kind who could tell you the ingredients of a dish by taste alone. She was never one to scoff at a frozen pie crust, and I think she would have liked this little pie. It felt really lovely to think about her as I peeled those peaches, the very taste of them bringing me right back into her kitchen. As mindful of her as the Ceremony for the Deceased. The smell, the slick slide of my peeler against the skin and the peach in my hand. The glistening orange orbs dotting my conutertop. It's close to her. Almost close enough.

Putting these peaches in her cobbler would make it even closer.

3 C flour

1.5 C Shortening

1 t salt

Beat together, then beat in 1 egg, 6 T cold water and 1 t vinegar. Add a little flour to handle. Refrigeration helps handling consistency. Should make a top and a bottom crust.

We'll try this over the weekend, along with some piecrust cookies, because the best thing about cobbler is the crust. And the best pie crust is my grandmas.