A funny story by Mary Ann

Every Thanksgiving, our mother would bake a pecan pie for my younger sister, Helen, because she loved them. I hated them. This ritual took place in the early ’50s in our tenement in the Mt. Pleasant section of Providence and continued in our Cape Cod style home in the Norwood suburb of Warwick until 1992 when she passed away from a cerebral aneurysm at the young age of 69.

This is a Pecan

While still mourning our devastating loss, when Thanksgiving rolled around, I decided to continue making pecan pies for my sister. As the requests for my delicious pies grew, the last time I made them I shipped 15. I Fed-Exed them all over the country, using a two-pound Fed-Ex box stuffed to the max with good old newspapers. They would arrive with nary a crumb out of place. Amazing.

Pecan, yes pecan, pie

I started volunteering at St. Francis Chapel and City Ministry and was given a small office and a personal computer. Not being savvy to the ins and outs of the PC, I made a plethora of mistakes. This one year I decided to order my pecans from a farm down south. I hit the wrong key-stroke and inadvertently ordered six pounds of pieces, not halves. I was convinced it was their mistake and I couldn’t dial the phone fast enough to complain. Furthermore, I tasted a few and decided they were walnuts.

The receptionist was very sweet and professional and even informed me that the owner would pay for the return shipping fees. Obviously, they decided I had a few screws loose.

Sister Pat, a Sister of Mercy, stopped by my office. She said she had heard I had a pecan/walnut kerfuffle. She popped a handful in her mouth and declared, “Girlfriend, I grew up in New Orleans and these are definitely pecans.” OMG

This is a walnut!

I called back to the pecan farm and told this sweet girl that I was mistaken, that they were pecans. I added, “Do you also sell walnuts?”

“No,” she replied. Mea Culpa. Ergo, the offer to pay for the return.

This particular year my sister was spending Thanksgiving at her in-laws in western Massachusetts. I rang Helen and asked her the street address, and she stated….
….OK … are you ready. Scroll down

WAIT… Scroll a bit more





Yep!! It was 157 Walnut Street!