Mmmmm Apples

There I was living in Tulsa, far from home, surrounded by four small boys, yearning for a touch of something familiar. It wasn't just that I missed all my family and friends, though of course I did. I had not lived home in years, but always close enough to visit whenever I wished. Tulsa, however, was another matter. The 23 hour drive was too daunting to undertake even for a long weekend.

Perhaps I should have been ready for the culture shock, having lived at various times in Texas, but I still hadn't learned to appreciate each area for the goodness it presented and to forgive it for not seeing things the way I had been raised. I did develop a fine appreciation for the one-mile square grid layout of the city, making every destination easy to locate. And I continued to appreciate the vast blue skies and gentle winter weather, though for the life of me I could not adjust to rattlesnakes on the patio or the vividness of dead grass painted green.

It was in the food department however that I felt most bereft. Perhaps it was because our family always had a vegetable garden, as did my Grandmother. There is nothing like the flavor of a fresh vegetable picked just seconds before devouring. Or perhaps I have always taken comfort in foods that played a major role in all of our family activities and celebrations. After all the years of tables laden with opulent foods encountered only during holidays, who would not equate good times with eating?

So in the fall, my thoughts naturally turned to apples, remembering all the family outings to pick up seconds (apples fallen to the ground and bruised) in the local fruit orchards, the smell of the rotting squished fruit on the grass beneath the trees, dodging bees that hovered expectantly around the cider press, inhaling the tantalizing smell of doughnuts fresh from the hot grease that were inevitably linked with fresh cider and sold at all respectable fruit stands.

I went to the local Piggly-Wiggly and perused the bins stacked with several types of apples. Pickings were slim compared with the bountiful menu of an actual fruit orchard. Piggly-Wiggly only offered a few varieties - delicious, macs and jonagolds. Where were the spies, cortlands, empires, galas, granny smiths, wolf rivers, macouns, greenings, romes, winesaps and jonathans to name but a few?

Well, an apple is an apple, I sighed. I selected macs - you can't go wrong with a macintosh, can you? I carried my prize home, thinking how wonderful they would taste. After carefully putting the groceries away, I opened the plastic bag, selected the biggest, reddest apple and carefully sliced it in fours. Juice spattered on the counter, tantalizingly. A faint scent of apple wafted up from the cutting board. I doled out the cored slices to the three older boys and took one for myself. If I were frugal, I could make the bag last a whole week.

I watched the boys eat, then bit my own quarter, expecting the familiar tangy apply flavor. The texture was as I remembered it - chewy and soft. Where was the juice running down my chin? How disappointing the taste! Nothing like I had grown up with. The whole experience was rather like chewing cardboard, a sham, an exercise in futility. This was definitely NOT an apple.

It may well be that the healthy vitamins and minerals were there, but the experience did not make you crave another. In fact, it was the same with apple pies and applesauce and cider. There just wasn't any real flavor. I guess they never heard of my father's secret recipe for cider where he mixed just the right blend of apple varieties to get that special distinct apple taste. We always froze a few gallons to pull out for special occasions. Nor did they have my Mother's applesauce recipe, the one where you cook the apples whole then sieve out the skins and seeds. The color of the skin makes the applesauce a delightful pink, and the flavor of the warm ambrosia is out of this world. You couldn't even begin to put together that kind of treat from the varieties offered in most grocery stores (except maybe Wegmans).

I suppose part of the experience was being around when the apples were cooking, watching the steam rise from the deep 8 quart stock pot and fog the windows, smelling the aroma for hours, impatiently waiting for that first taste - you just can't get that out of opening a store bought jar of applesauce.

Now that we are back in NY, Kiel was chomping at the bit to go apple picking. But my sisters beat us to the punch and while Deb was up visiting from Tennessee, she determined to get some REAL apples to take back with her (having experienced the same taste challenges that I did in Oklahoma), and she very kindly delivered a huge sack of all different kinds of apples before she left town.

I'm not sure they will make it into applesauce. I am enjoying eating them raw - what a treat to select the flavor I want and bite into succulent, amazing, tangy apple flavor. I am careful to eat no more than a half an apple a day, giving the other half to Drew in an effort to encourage him to eat healthy. Perhaps I will succumb this weekend and make just a small batch of applesauce. Kiel is threatening to make an apple pie, and I hope he actually does! I'm not sure if it will keep the doctor away, but at very least I hope not to have any health incidents related to suddenly ingesting a boatload of fiber.

Hurray for Lance

FINALLY! Something concrete. I have been signed up for the Lance Armstrong email service and gotten his publications Heal and Cure ever since I first found one of his magazines in my Yale oncologists' waiting area. It has been mildly helpful, encouraging to read that others are going through similar experiences, a bit scary to hear the complete story about the potential side effects. Some of their conferences sounded interesting, but they were always too far away or at a bad time.

This week I got an email telling me about a free program for cancer survivors at the local YMCA - a fitness program geared especially for your personal needs. I bit. I emailed the Y to ask for further information. This is a terrific program where you meet with a trainer, they ask about your personal experience with cancer and what you would like to do to deal with the leftover symptoms to get back into shape.

Best part is, not only is the 12 week time free for you, but also for your immediate family. I made an appointment for the initial conversation that would determine whether I am eligible, what my needs are, how it works. I liked the place right away, even though I had never been there. There's a Y closer to our apartment, but it doesn't have this program.

How delightful to meet so many morning people! It restores my faith in mankind. The place was buzzing and everyone was talking and laughing and greeting each other. After taking down my information and assessing that I was in fact eligible, I got the tour. The room of special interest for me was the Gulik Gym. Here were simple exercises designed to slowly work you back into shape in a holistic way without aggravating anything that might be tender or sensitive for your body.

Water aerobics were also suggested along with heated whirlpool for achy joints. They keep the pool temperatures in the 80s! Interesting change of pace. She also showed me the "regular" equipment, but we both recognized that I was not ready for such stuff. A long term goal perhaps, but well beyond the 12 weeks.

Next step, get my doctor to sign the approval form stating that I am Ok to do this. Then I get measured and documented. They put me in their system, and everytime I come, I log in for each area I do something. They keep track of what I have done so they can guide and direct along the way. Then I get to bring the boys who can do whatever they would like while I am working on my turtle-paced stuff, but still get to support and encourage me to be there. Nice.

My guide told me they are working on this program slowly and don't have a lot of people enrolled yet. As we chatted about the after effects of cancer, I mentioned that I needed to find a nutrition program like this physical fitness program because I have the most amount of trouble figuring out how to get the nutrition I need but not blow my body up with too much fiber etc. Well, turns out she is going to Chicago just this week to learn about that from the Lance Armstrong foundation clinic. Yeah!

Maybe I will really find the right help to put the pieces of Humpty-Dumpty back together again. Wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake!

Frost

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window as I brewed my cup of morning tea. The whole apartment was bathed in bright, warm light and a glance out the window revealed a joyous blue sky as wide and clear as any Texas morning vista. Who would have thought I would wade through chilly 34 degree temperatures on my way to the car. Brrrrr! I had heard the weather forecast, knew it was cold, wore my black leather jacket.

I slung my ergonomic bookbag over one shoulder and, energized by the bracing air, stepped lively toward the car, purposely breathing heavily and watching the little clouds of my steamy breath quickly evaporate. I love fall. I walked across the lawn instead of sticking to the sidewalks so I could scuffle through the thin layer of leaves papering the feet of the various trees.

A glorious morning to be alive - the morning after the first frost of the season. Still at 8am the grass was covered by a fragile coating of whiteness here and there, turning the grass a light green, dulling the purples and yellows of the wildflowers alongside the road, assisting leaves in their plunge to the ground. I drove along, noting the subtle changes here and there as the world woke to the approaching autumnal changes.

Suddenly, to my right, a huge field glared into view, lying a bit lower than the ground about it, just past a pinetree ensconced farm house, right before the little Baptist Church with the golf course in the side yard. It was totally engulfed in white frost, thick enough to be mistaken for snow, looking for all the world like an ice skating rink. Not a soul stirred there, not a leaf nor a blade of grass. Everything was completely motionless, unmoving, frozen.

"Winter is next," it warned me. "Beware. Soon all the world will follow my lead." I sailed by silently, staring at the glare of the sun reflecting from the whiteness. "Not yet," I respond. "Winter is not here yet. Today I chose to shuffle through leaves and twirl in the bright sun. You shall not encroach so soon. You will have to wait your turn." And I drove on to work.