In Memory of Mom's Apple Pie

This weeks marks eight years since my mother passed away from breast cancer. Today, as I perused the produce aisle, I was tempted by the MacIntosh, Romes and Granny Smiths to bake her famous apple pie.

My childhood memories are puncuated by the vision of piles of red and green apple peels filling the kitchen sink. I would pull the peels on top of the pile, munching as I did my homework while my mother prepared her grandmother's beloved pie. Now, my namesake, Grandma Bessie, made her crust from scratch. Her secret ingredients were a dash of lemon or orange juice in the crust and filling and a layer of corn flakes under the apples. My mom used Ritz pie crust which was probably the only prepared crust without lard. I have used Marie Callendar's and sprinkle my bottom crust with Cinnamon Toast Crunch but everything else remains the same.

During the final weeks of my mother's life, she would share with me some of her recipes for brisket, stuffed chicken breasts, and that famous pie. As with most women, our recipes will outlive us. We hope our children continue to make our lasagna, brisket, wontons, or pierogis long after we are gone.

Yesterday, my younger daughter helped me slice the apples with the same kind of gadget my mother used. "When I grow up, I am going to be a great cook," she proudly noted. I am sad my daughter never had the chance to know my mother. Yet, from a certain angle, she resembles her and certainly shares her childhood spunk.

In a sense, our loved ones never leave us. We are bequeathed their favorite recipes, maybe some jewelry or a favorite scarf. We reminisce with family members and friends. We look at old photographs, fondly remembering the past.

To immortalize my mother, my grandma Fran, and her mother-in-law Grandma Bessie, I leave you the family recipe for apple pie.

Mom's Apple Pie

prepared double pie crust

1/2 c. crushed cornflakes (or Cinnamon Toast Crunch)

4 MacIntosh apples, pared, cored, sliced

4 Granny Smith apples, pared, cored, sliced

3/4 c. sugar

2 T. flour

1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1/4 tsp. salt

1 T. orange juice or lemon juice

Butter

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Toss apples, sugar, flour, cinnamon salt, and orange or lemon juice in a large bowl. Line pan with half of pie crust. Sprinkle bottom of crust with 1/2 cup crushed cornflakes or Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Fill crust with apple mixture. Dot with butter. Cover with top crust. Pinch sides and make fork impressions in top crust. Bake 10 minutes at 425 degrees. Reduce temperature to 350 degrees and bake for an additional 50 minutes or until top browns.

Ferris Wheels of Life

Today, I took my daughter to our town's annual namesake event, The Pumpkin Festival. My daredevil daughter is always excited about the prospect of rides and the allure of the all you can ride wristband. Kind of like a compulsive overeater at a Vegas buffet. Much to her chagrin, the actual rides numbered two. A somewhat decrepit-looking carny Ferris wheel and a tot train which circled around the park's sport court. I ponied up a few bucks for a couple of ride tickets and we headed towards the sole ride which could be construed as adventurous in the eyes of a nine year old.

Apparently, the rest of the festival attendees shared our notion. This would undoubtedly be one of life's experiences where time spent waiting would outlast the ride itself. I presume there may be some hidden meaning behind my current obsession with waiting. But, then again, maybe not. In high school and college lit classes, I would often ponder author's intent. Was there a symbolic meaning behind every word or phrase?

Back to the subject at hand. The longer I spent in the line, the more unsure I became about riding the somewhat rickety looking carnival attraction. A sign listing height requirements for children "traveling alone" calmed my nerves, especially when I noticed a few kids who could not have been older than first graders proudly climbing into the seats. Well, that is until the woman in front of us declared she wouldn't be joining her kids because she would "get sick." I had promised my daughter at least a spin on a ride and I was not about to let my hesitation disappoint.

My daughter dropped the tickets into the bucket. We climbed into our basket. The attendant buckled and harnessed us into safety. As we slowly ascended the circle, stopping so others could get on, my daughter commented, "I hope this ride goes really fast so it will be over soon!" I chuckled under my breath. I am more of the "let's just close our eyes if it gets too scary" school of thought.

When everyone was aboard, the ride began more fluid movements. I have to admit, it was rather fun! I sang along to a Journey tribute band as we soared above the park, admiring the mountains in the distance. A beautiful, clear October day in Southern California.

The ride was over within two songs. We climbed out of the basket, ready for an order of freshly cut fries and a hand squeezed lemonade or some other carnival treat. Never one to take things at face value, I thought about the day's lesson. Life sometimes resembles a rickety carnival ride. We spend so much energy worrying about the future, in general and specific. When our basket stops atop to let others on, time stands still. We wish the ride would speed up so we could get off quickly. Anticipation is often much worse than the actual object of fear.

If we admire the surroundings and sing along to the music, the ride becomes less scary. If all else fails, we can always shut our eyes!

Stop and Smell the (Nipple) Daisies

Recently, I came across some rather curious products while searching online. Depending on your point of view, these items may be hysterically funny, a sign of our times, or downright disturbing. I'd be interested to hear your take. All three of these items speak to our societal need to rush through childhood only to arrive at middle age and hit that brick wall.

The first item is Heelarious described on the company website as "soft crib shoes designed to look like high heels." These shoes came to be when two childhood BFF's, Britta Bacon and Hayden Porter, became business partners. Hayden is a high heel obsessed girl after my own heart. Her pal Britta seems to be more of the flat type. Note that this is not my intent to put down her personality, just her shoe type. At any rate, on her way to her daughter's 4th birthday party, she looked back at her daughter's babyhood, something all of us moms tend to do. Her brain cells seemingly crossed wires with thoughts of her friend's shoe obsession and Heelarious was born.

Retailing at $34.50, these faux shoes come in hot pink, red, pink satin, leopard, and a baby pink satin version complete with peep toe. They all feature really cute linings. The latest generation are cowboy boots, complete with spurs, available in black and in pink. I am curious to see that all black pump versions are about to be retired. Shoe rule Number One. When in doubt, buy black. Maybe shoppers fear dressing infants in black. I am waiting for the red soled version or maybe a nice Chanel style cap toe.

These shoes have been a hit with celebs such as Tori Spelling (surprise!) and have appeared in swag bags at the Oscars and Bravo A-List Awards where Paris and Kim Kardashian picked up a pair.

Obvious by the title of this blog, I, too, am a shoe obsessed girl who would go pretty far for a laugh. However, the mere thought of putting infants in stilettos somewhat bothers me. What next? Chanel bottle covers?

As the mother of a young teen, I am aware of our societal push to"bring sexy back" -- at least in hair, makeup, and style choices seen in fashion mags and in junior departments. Daisy Dukes, Uggs, and copious lipgloss are a common dress choice in junior high. Enough so that I support school uniforms! Are we really ready to bring babies into this mix?

Which leads me to the next product. Berjuan, a Spanish company, has introduced a baby doll which can be nursed, to promote lactation as a lifestyle choice. Now, I was a nursing mom and totally support the practice. However, I am not so sure we need to be showing six and seven year olds how to get their babies to latch on.

Bebe Gloton is currently available only in Spain. The doll comes complete with a halter top/bra contraption with daisies where a woman's breasts would be. The doll makes a crying sound followed by a sucking sound when the mouth device is activated near the floral nipples.

After watching a video demonstration of the doll, one European wrote, 'This toy would never work in the U.S. because the public would sexualize the act of breastfeeding, thereby deeming it inappropriate for little girl to engage in.' Guessing the reviewer has never heard of Heelarious. Culturally, we Americans are torn between our Puritanical heritage and Cinemax Late Night. Interesting.

Why do we try to rush through childhood without even pausing for commercial breaks? (Which are now obsolete thanks to TiVo!) That is, until we get to middle age. "Vogue," "In Style," and the like are filled with ads for cosmetic fillers and costly moisturizers. If we could lose ten pounds in a week while turning back the clock ten years, we would be in nirvana. As we arrive at the credits, we want to rewind. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It is part of life. We reconnect with past friends, reminisce and reflect on our life choices.

Nevertheless, the next trend is remotely creepy. Seems grown women have been spending cash, upwards of $4000, on lifelike baby dolls. Designed for people who "love to hold and nurture babies," for "emotional healing" and "filling a void," all comments I read online. Maybe these women should hold out till Bebe Gloton arrives in the States!

Are we incapable of enjoying each stage of life as it comes? Put the life TiVo on pause and let the kids play outside! Just don't let them wear stilettos to play kickball! And conversely, embrace your actual age! By all means, color your hair, practice yoga and Pilates, slather on that moisturizer! But, don't stress out about turning back the clock.

And if you need to buy one of the above items, I say go with the Heelarious crib shoes. At least they might get a few laughs at a baby shower or make a witty conversation piece decorating your desk!

Things My Mother Taught Me

A few nights ago, I listened quietly as two friends spoke about how often they spent time with their mothers. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I remembered my own mother who passed away in 2001. I have spent the past few days thinking about my mother and her influence. I may not be able to ask her for advice. We can't meet for lunch or an afternoon of shopping. We can no longer chat on the phone. I can't kiss her hello or goodbye, laugh or cry with her. Yet, she still lives within my heart and my soul. I am so fortunate she left us the gift of a set of Cd's she had recorded about her life. I am also left with memories of a wonderful relationship and the lessons she bequeathed me.

1. Always wear clean underwear (in case you are in an accident, God forbid.) As I revisit her advice, I have a strong visual of waiting to be dropped off by my nursery school carpool. My mother is standing on the curb while my baby brother napped inside the house. She is well coiffed in a sixties bubble cut, wearing mascara and a red and gold brocade sleeveless shell with matching capri's, probably a cute pair of flats. When we reminisce about my mother, someone always brings up her panache and effort to look put together. She was not one to leave the house in sweats, except when walking with her friends. Although I occasionally wear Lululemon yoga clothes to pick up my daughters from school, I try to follow suit. And I always wear clean underwear!

2. When you feel sorry for yourself, the best thing to do is help others. She often added, "Think of others who have it worse." It took me more than a few therapy sessions to release the guilt for negative emotions. Looking back, I am not sure my mother meant to avoid acknowledging feelings. Her focus was on helping others to add meaning to our lives. When my mother lost her father to congestive heart failure when he was 62, she decided to be trained as a hospice volunteer, in part to learn to deal with death. I admired her path to inner growth as well as her commitment to helping others. Volunteerism and philanthropy have always played a tremendous role in my life. I thank my parents as role models in their dedication to helping others.

3. Relationships cannot endure without chemistry and passion. Romantic relationships are difficult at best. My mom talked to me about how much she loved my father and she was able to look at his schtick and laugh because they had so much chemistry...the chemistry was the glue. I would extend this lesson to our close friendships. Think about your closest friends. Invariably, they are the people with the same level of passion for life and a shared chemistry, albeit in a non-sexual sense. We are attracted to some people, not so much to others. That magnetism is necessary for bonding.

4. Laughter is powerful. My mother never told me this. My childhood memories of Tuesday nights involve trying to get to sleep to the soundtrack of her bridge group's chortles, guffaws, and howling laughter. I used to wonder what was so funny. When I am with my father's side of the family, we spend a significant amount of time joking, doubled over in laughter. Ability to find humor in even the most trying of situations is a treasure. Laughter is the best medicine and a sense of humor is the most powerful tool of attraction!

5. Adversity is a gift. My mom was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer at the age of 55. She had just lost her mother to multiple myeloma, after nursing her for several months. Throughout her battle, she discussed with my aunt and the rest of us that she considered having cancer as a gift. It made her stronger and more confident. If she could face cancer head on, or any other dreaded disease, she could deal with anything. As I grew up, my mom often identified with being a worrier. She would consider calling the Wayne Police if I showed up half an hour late. She knew every alternative route, to avoid driving on the highway which was an anxiety-provoking experience for her. She refused to drive over bridges. Looking back, her resolve to avoid driving on Route 46 led her to different paths. She was strong and determined. She just didn't see it until the final years of her life.

Along with her recipe for brisket, the infamous Simon family apple pie, freckles, and dark hair, my mom imparted me with the values of beauty and passion, volunteerism and selflessness, laughter and courage.

I love you, Mommy!