Baby Don't You Cry, I'm Gonna Make a Pie

...gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle...
Do you know this song from the FABULOUS movie, The Waitress?  Sweetest song ever.  

 I'm gearing up to make another pie tonight with the rescued apples.  NOT stolen apples. I  think stolen apples would not make a good pie--they'd make a cursed pie.  But rescued apples are a different story.  They WANT to be eaten.  I performed another mission on Friday after work and picked from a tree I've been watching for years, full of blushy, delicious-looking apples.  I pulled right over and crossed the busyish road to get to the tree with a righteous spring in my step.  The old me from not that many years back would have worried about someone pulling over and questioning me, but the current me doesn't sweat that--I just think, 'Bring it! I'm picking these neglected fruits because no one else will--want some?'  I like to think of myself as an apple warrior! Fruit amnesty for all!!

Apples evoke such comfort for me.  I even love the word.  Apple-y goodness.  September is Apple Time.  A time to dream of old orchards planted with old-fashioned apples:  Northern Spy, Beeley Pippin, Nickajack, Lady Sweet, Golden Gem.  That good real apple smell.  Dreams of making cider with OM (hard and reg.).  Pies.  Tarts.  Applesauce.  Apple cake.  Oh, to be 'Prince of the apple towns.' (Dylan Thomas--from Fern Hill)

My lovely step-mom, Tina, bought me the best apple gadget ever:  a peeler/corer/slicer.  You attach it to your counter top, insert the fruit, turn a handle for like, 5 seconds, and voila!  Peeled, cored and spiral sliced, as promised.  This is the real deal. And now I can make pie without the unpleasant side effect of claw-hand that comes from peeling apples in long strips. 

Gonna make a pie from heaven above
Gonna fill it up with rescued apple love
So baby don't you cry
Gonna make a pie
And hold you forever in the middle of my heart