It was March 14, 2005 and there we were, alone on the island. It felt like we were alone anyway. We’d recently settled into our apartment, had gotten into a bit of a routine with school and work and were learning to be a married couple, which was pretty much the easiest part of the get-married-move-halfway-across-an-ocean-new-job-new-school whirlwind. But it was still a somewhat lonely existence, thousands of miles away from family, still trying to figure out how to make friends, and we were often in need of a pick-me-up, something to look forward to or celebrate. We’d take any excuse, really, to do something to make the day feel special.
And, one day in March, two weeks shy of our 3rd “lunaversary” (that’s 3 months of marriage), we realized it was Pi Day: March 14th, 3.14. A reason to get excited if there ever was one. We pulled out all the stops and made a “pie.”
The intent was a chicken pot pie, but as this was early in our marriage and I was still not quite clear on the “how to cook” aspect of life, I took some liberties. Leftover lasagna noodles stood in for a crust, the filling became home to what was left of the huge bag of frozen veggies we’d bought our first week on Oahu and had long since grown tired of. Some leftover cream cheese found its way into the mix, I remember, but I’m not sure what else was in there. Whatever it was, it was perfect. The perfect way to celebrate an ordinary day. The perfect way to remind ourselves that we were the awesomest couple we knew. The perfect way to shake the loneliness and laugh instead.
I’m pretty sure we even thought it tasted good, noodles and all.
We’ve celebrated Pi(e) Day every year since then. And it’s gotten better every year. Just like a quirky tradition should.