love and pie

Husband and I went on one of our urban hunting and gathering missions, as we like to call them, last weekend. There is an apartment complex near us that was built about 15 years ago on old farm land. They left two of the farmer's apple trees for landscaping, and I don't think anyone who lives there has ever wandered over, picked up a dirty apple, wiped it on the leg of their trousers, and taken a big old bite out of a tart, old-variety apple. They all just rot on the ground, so much worm food. So we go over every year to confiscate a big bag full, and this seems to be an extraordinary year for apples. Sure, they're small and buggy and bruised, but that in no way affects their eat-ability. We collected about 15 pounds worth. It's like finding treasure. Urban pirate booty, ours for the taking.

I've just finished baking the second apple pie this week for my family, husband and number one son anyway. Number two son doesn't eat fruit in any form. I keep telling him some day he will grow up and try a piece of homemade apple pie and realize that he has missed years of homemade apple pies and he will weep at the thought of it. The first pie, I cut the slits in the top and a tiny heart in the middle. Made with love by yours truly. Tonight, I was tired. I rode my bike five miles to work. I worked all day. I ran at lunch. I pulled a calf muscle. I rode five miles home in the heat with a pulled calf muscle. I made dinner and I cleaned it up. Dead tired. So on tonight's pie, where the heart was last time, I cut a small dollar sign in the middle of the crust, just to remind my dear ones that you can't buy this kind of love ;)

(Totally unrelated photo: the ever-beguiling Skittles)