Just something I wrote earlier which obviously shows too much time on my hands.  This is written listing apple varieties.


Red Delicious!

I just heard Granny Smith yell out to McIntosh...."Little apple dumplin' didn't fall too far from the tree! I'll just roll on over there and give that little feller some homemade cinnamon applesauce." Uncle Ben Davis peeks over his bowl of Captain Kidd and exclaims "Ah, Mama, it's still early harvest and his Mother, you know Priscilla, the one men call the pink lady. Remember her-- she wears that yellow dress with the polka dot puffy sleeves? They say she's a real rome beauty, got all that red wealthy, old family money. Shes not much on company. I hear her husband's not round. He's a real wine sap who got into his yellow newton and took off real fast screamin' somethin' about a goldrush way over yonder in Gloucester county. Yep, took off yellin' and screamin' discovery! while poppin the top on another twenty ounce. We all thought Lord Lambourne! and raced to find Doc Hogg. Poor fella, still thinks he's Jonathan some kind of northern spy." "Stop that right now!" Granny said. "You just have yourself another bowl of Delicious while I go get ready for the gala of the season. I'm gonna put on my Sunday best and dance the waltz with old Lord Nelson. Were gonna ride off into the sunset sippin' Canada Red." Uncle Ben Davis just shook his head. He knew Granny Smith had stories to tell, stories that would make the maidens blush. He stepped onto the porch and sat in his favorite rocker. Back and forth, dreaming of Edith Smith and their trip to Fiji, where he was careful not to get a sunburn on his benoni. He remembered smoothees shared and felt like blushin golden.
 

For some reason this line tickled me:

I hear her husband's not round.

*

Dear Sherry,

Thank you and greetings—

                                        . . .  but need more juice on notion of the apple as entrapment. As some imagine
                                        this kind of story to be more an entréé— Thx again.

Best wishes,



Dax


8

“There are no mistakes”  my Lorilynn states.  “Take your journal and write or doodle.”   I can’t draw but my new friend Martha can and I am learning to write but my grammar stinks.  I’m learning to be married (again) and I’m learning to compromise and how to breathe when he does something not so right.  I’m learning to be a mom to the most incredible sixteen year old but I am in a continual struggle with  his independence and the need to nurture the brown haired boy holding a colored ball outside his Aunt Kristie’s house on Thanksgiving day.  I’m learning that my parents are getting old and how I’m scared as hell to let go.  I’m learning that friendship is more than a word and how mine can be misinterpreted.  I’m learning that saying goodbye can hurt and how memories center in my heart which aches.  I’m learning to garden and to knit.  I’m learning to limit checked out library books to five and that it is OK to remember my sister when I look into her son’s blue eyes.

I may as well buy the darn library books. I check out too many, keep them too long. I can't help myself.

Yesterday, I returned about twenty and still have two MIA's.  I always have a fine and the librarian knows me by name.  Barnes and Noble and Borders are a whole other obsession entirely.  Thanks, Lavonne.

Sherry

Lets not even mention all the books on CD I have in my car. LOL

Yellow is the sunflowers she loved
and the lemonade I made for her memorial service.
Yellow is my disposition
and the sun that shines on tulips.
Yellow is a bright bug
and teeth from too much coffee.
Yellow is Old Yeller that made me cry
and the flag that flies over my garden of daffodils.
Yellow is my ragged sweater
and the gumball that rolls round and down the track.

And yellow is the color of sunshine, and yellow roses, which are my favorite color roses cause they remind me of sunshine, which is what I want to feel on my face more than anything else in a day.... my face in the sun.  Think of it more than just the sunburn you might get, or the warmth... it's just more than that.

laura

Yellow is the first day of spring when birds chirp and honey bees fly by. Yellow is homemade banana pudding and the color of a Texas rose. Yellow is Forrest Gump and "it" happens. Yellow is a yo-yo traveling first class around the world.  Yellow is Paris and the color of Matisse...

Yellow is the color of a butterfly in my butterfly garden that I don't have yet, because Red is the color of the clay that is the soil, that I can't dig, because I don't have the strength to dig the clay to make the garden, to lay the soil that is needed to nourish all the Yellow santana, and Yellow salvia, and Yellow flowers that the Yellow butterfly wants in something other than Yellow sugar water in the bowl where the garden wants to be.

Yellow is how I remember white bed linens when I am downstairs and out the door, in my car and on the way to somewhere else and the light that came in through the window over my bed is still lingering there, just where I left it.

Yellow is one of the shades in the organic weave of my journal, that is identical to my sherry's journal, that is identical to our maggie's journal, that is also the same as our tina's -- wherein we write and let the words sprout the worst sorts of acne and the phrases can break out in boils, and the paragraphs be poor, lame and crippled things that wander about in great pain with little meaning.  We write and we put rehab off to another day, a day we can leave early enough to stop by the clay yard where the yellow wants to bloom and feed the yellow butterflies.  Yellow is the #2 pencil I jot down the title of a book, Lasagna Gardening, by, I. Doan Know Who, but do recollect it has a cure for clay. 

Nine minutes 'til six in the evening and the mellow of yellow yet resides in the mind from the morning.  g'bye

His ad read "Single Moms Only" and hers replied "Paris for Two" He dreamed of children laughing in the yard and pups playing in the house.  He wanted a space with a yard that he could call home.  He had sailed the world searching for her, never knowing that in a distant place she was there waiting, his hometown girl.

Firefly's Fist Fight

"I'm Mary Margaret McGee but daddy calls me Firefly because of my wild red curly hair and because my name is a tongue twister and tough for Daddy to say when I'm in trouble (which is most of the time.)

We live in Sister Oklahoma and own the Cooking Connection, a little cafe on Main Street. Daddy makes the savories and Momma bakes cakes. I'm learning to do both along with my big brother Georgie (who is eleven).

Yesterday we had the Monte Cristo sandwich, fries and tea for $6.95. That must have been a good deal because the cafe was packed with people and the phone kept ringing. "Cooking Connection, Mary Margaret speaking..." "Yes, sorry but we don't take reservations and lunch is almost over..." "Sure, two Monte Cristo specials to go."

Just then the bully Ricky Polley and his gang walked in. "Hey, Mary Margaret, what about me? I'm tired of waiting and we want to sit down and have some of your Daddy's sweet tea."

"It'll be a few minutes" I said.

Ricky stood there and shook his head and turned to walk away but then he stopped and with his mean bully stare he said "No way are we're gonna wait for a seat in this run down cafe."

Getting madder, I followed him outside. I was running to catch up with Ricky and his gang. I did catch him alright. I tapped Ricky on the shoulder. He turned and said "What do you want, Firefly?"

I answered him with my good aim and a punch to his left eye "You should have ordered dessert. Me and my Momma make a wicked chocolate fudge pie."


Firefly's Monte Cristo Sandwich

8 slices bread
2 eggs
1/2 c. milk
1/2 tsp. salt
Pinch of pepper
Sliced breast of chicken or turkey
4 slices cooked ham
4 slices Swiss cheese
Prepared mustard (optional)
butter for frying

Cut crust from bread. Beat eggs, milk, salt and pepper together; dip bread slices in mixture. Let soak well; drain. Arrange some thin slices of chicken on 4 bread slices. Cover with slice of ham; top with slice of cheese. Spread lightly with mustard; cover each with another slice of bread. Press down well; cut across diagonally.

Heat butter in frying pan and cook the sandwich until golden brown.


Chocolate Fudge Pie

4 ounces unsweetened chocolate, cut into pieces
5 ounces (10 tablespoons) butter
2 large eggs2 large egg yolks
1-3/4 cups sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup flour
1/4 cup orange juice
2 tablespoons orange marmalade
1 refrigerated unbaked pie crust, pressed into 9-inch pie pan
Powdered sugar and whipped cream for serving

Preheat oven to 425 degrees (see note).

Melt unsweetened chocolate and butter in top of a double boiler. Combine eggs, egg yolks, sugar, salt, vanilla and flour. Whisk to combine. Whisk in orange juice, orange marmalade and reserved chocolate mixture. Pour mixture into prepared pie crust. Bake for 25 minutes until puffed, set and slightly crusty on top. Cool completely before serving. Sprinkle the pie with powdered sugar and serve with whipped cream. Makes 8 to 10 servings.

Note: This pie bakes at an unusually high temperature to create its ultra-creamy interior and contrasting crusty exterior.

Oh, don't even tempt me with cooking.... I LOVE to cook!  All I need is a recipe; I mean how hard is following instructions, unless of course the recipe calls for Clarified Butter!  Sounds.... yummy!

Laura