Apple Pie

The ten day weather forecast for Worcester, MA includes tonight’s low of 37 degrees with a 30% chance of rain. Ten days from now, on December 1st (can you believe that?) the prediction is for a high of 42 degrees with a 20% chance of rain. Since I’ll be in Honolulu on Monday I won’t give much care to the weather in the northeast. By the way it is suppose to be 83 there on Monday.

The tradition for Thanksgiving has been to gather at Jennifer and Darryl’s house in Worcester where we complain that the thermostat set at 54 degrees at night and 60 during the day. The sport is to see how many times Dad will try to turn the heat up and how many time Jennifer will yell at him for doing so. I always bring sweatpants, a down jacket, a heavy blanket or sleeping bag and plenty of tea bags for hot drinks.

Dad and I took on the task of shopping for tomorrow’s dinner while Darryl and Jennifer went off to work. Jennifer expected the stores to be swamped with people navigating carts through the isles. With list in hand and a mission to be accomplished, I attacked the spree as efficiently as possible. I entered unfamiliar territory in the Worcester’s Price Chopper but, still made quick time of the list. Dad was surprised how quickly I shopped. I’m not a shopper so no sense dawdling over the turnips. For years he shopped with Mom who slowly and methodically made her way through the store, rarely back tracking and avoiding going one extra painful step.

I asked a stock clerk where the lard was. Yes, lard—the poison my Micronesian host mother would fry my pancakes, fish, bacon, and everything else in. It makes a wickedly flakey pie crust. I am surprised the package doesn’t come with a coupon offer—mail in the end labels from three packages of lard, with $9.95 and receive a free stent. Takes four to six weeks so don’t have your heart attack before then.

I thought I got everything on the list until Jennifer asked me to the whip the heavy cream (more heart disease) for the frozen fruit salad. The afternoon’s trip to the store was a little different. Totally dark outside, a stream of car red tail lights illuminating the street ahead of me and a less than friendly feel inside the store where harried shoppers who just gotten off from work stood in line with carts (or buggies as they are called in the South) overflowing with frozen turkeys (are they going to thaw in time?), store bought pies (that is a crime) and soft drinks. In the express lane I patiently stood with my 16 ounces of heavy whipping cream and a single serving size of yogurt—my snack for tomorrow.

Dad went to bed early. He is fending off a cold with Airborne. Mark and Cindi are still a few hours from Worcester after surviving an hour crossing over the George Washington Bridge in NYC. Robin won’t venture down from the north country of New Hampshire until tomorrow morning. Jennifer and Darryl are at a prayer meeting. Mike and Margie are visiting their newborn grandson—their first and Dad’s first great grandson.

Nothing much different about this pre-holiday eve, except the huge emptiness of not having Mom here. I’m going to bake apple pie tomorrow. It was her signature.