Ever get one of those emails that sends a chill through your soul?  Such as:

“I think we should just remain friends.”
“The company will no longer require your services.”
“XXX Are you satisfying her??! XXX akjdhjk”

Dad sent me one of those emails right before I left to visit everyone for Christmas:

“If you want mince pie for dessert, try to find one. They are so out-of-favor I could not find one in Santa Rosa. I don’t have time to make one.”

I suddenly felt woozy.  I had to sit down.  Except I was already sitting down.  So I lay on the floor.  The cat crawled on my head and pretended to be a Davy Crockett cap.

I wasn’t thunderstruck because I’d have to figure out where to buy a mince pie.  I knew that Walker’s Pie Shop in Berkeley would not only have mince pies, but they’d have extra ones for Christmas Eve and I could just stroll in and buy one.

No, I was upset because I realized Dad was right: very few places sell mince pies anymore.  They’re a dying art.

Just out of curiosity, I called the local bakery down the street:

“Hi, I’m wondering if you sell mince pies.”

“Uhhh...let me check..................................(rustle rustle rustle).............yeah, hello?”

“Yes.”

“We don’t sell mince pies.  But if you want, you can buy some jars of mincemeat and make it yourself.”

Thanks a lot, Emeril.  Next time you call the fire department to save your burning house, I hope they dump a bunch of hoses on your lawn and drive off.

My father and I don’t agree on very much.  We do agree that any movie with a spaceship is worth watching with an open mind.  We think that Jane Austen is funny.  We think my mother is nice.

We also like mince pies, although my situation is somewhat more desperate than Dad’s because I never cared much for pumpkin.  If mince pies vanish into oblivion, I’ll be stuck eating those apple turnover thingies from McDonald’s.

Near as I can tell, this is happening because mince pies are a tough dessert.  They taste a little strong.  They’re not a namby pamby little fruit pie.  They make you sit up and take notice.  But that’s too much for today’s lazy, mechanized society where everyone TIVOs everything and skips past the commercials--they can’t even stand to fast forward them like they did in my day, using a good old-fashioned remote control.  People sit in overstuffed chairs and passively receive opinions beamed to them from seemingly benevolent (but in reality evil) figures such as Bill O’Reilly, John Ashcroft, and Ellen DeGeneres.  Former Mouseketeers lip-sync their way to stardom while aging action stars slash budgets with as much numerical acumen as their own illiterate children, who snore over algebra homework in nearby voucher-fed private schools where students have their chauffeurs on speed dial and gag over Shakespeare but quote dialogue from The OC with double-whipped-mocha-induced abandon--

Uh, anyway.  My point is, I’m doing my part to save civilization.  I’m going to eat mince pie.  Even in this world gone wrong.  Even as the tide of history turns against me.

Even if--God help us all--I have to start making it myself.