i kept the name of this blog for a long time to myself....kept it close to my heart. though in the early days, i wasn't sure what it meant and what i should do with it. i repeated it over and over for months....maybe over a year. i'm not exactly sure when it first came to me. i think i may have dreamt it. or was it whispered in my ear? then i began to turn it over again and again. and i realized it was
something.
well, i'm going to break this post into more bite-size pieces.
the apples part is multi-layered.
for me, apples are a symbol. what do you think of?
me?
i think of lots of things, but mostly i think of my grandma. my grandma had the most generous spirit i've ever known. and when i think of the life she had, i have to wonder where that generosity of spirit came from.
i think of the first time i cut myself cooking was with her. making apple pies.
i think of the canned applesauce with cinnamon that she and my gramps would make each fall.
i think of her baked and fried apples.
years ago, the fall after my dear gramps died, my gram was living alone in an assisted living apartment not far from our little place. she had a teeny-tiny kitchen with a one-burner cooktop. most of her meals were in the community dining room--she was an amazing cook (i know *amazing* gets overused....but i'm not sure any other word works here)
the food in the dining room was tolerable. not awful, but not great. she never complained and would always find something to compliment. ::bless her::
i was having a family dinner at our home. big red picked up gram, who had a big tupperware bowl of fried apples in tow. she had helped herself to a few apples at a time from the fruit bowl in the apartment lobby for days. she had plenty of sugar packets (at one time, i think all grandmas had lots of sugar packets). she saved the butter pads at each meal. so, with a little cinnamon from her own tiny cupboard had made sticky caramel-y fried apples to share with us--potluck style.
after dinner, there was a little bit of fried apple left. she carefully slid them into a smaller container and placed them in my fridge.
a couple days later i chatted with her on the phone, i had just returned from getting a christmas photo of our oldest(then only 2 1/2 years). we talked about regular stuff, but she told me her vision had returned.
hold the horses.
my grandma had lost vision in one eye years ago, following the delivery of a stillborn baby boy in 1949. she had surgery in 1980, but that had not been successful.
my parents were at her place when i had called so i kept the conversation short.
early the next morning my mom called from the hospital--i should come right away. but, it was too late. grandma had died--a heart attack.
(this is where i always cry....still. 14 years later)
after coming home from the hospital where they pronounced her dead and where i last stroked her soft soft soft pale grey hair, i opened the fridge. there in the back was the little bowl of apples.
i ate them slowly. crying.
best
deborah
