The Joys of Death and Sadness

Happy Fall everybody!!!

What a joyous time of the year - everything starts to die and children have to go back to school. They can no longer make my allergies flip out and stay up until 10pm playing basketball next door, respectively. All summer long it�s a chorus in my house of that god-forsaken basketball and me sneezing.

Achoo, boing boing boing, achoo.

Boing boing boing, PING, swoosh, achoo.

Fall is the time of my birthday, which is becoming less and less a time to celebrate. But it was a great time when I was a kid, so it�s become a memory to celebrate. It�s also the time of our anniversary, and it�s got my favorite holidays mixed in for extra special enjoyment, filled with candy, turkey and family.

And let us not forget the International Day for the Elderly, National Coming Out Day, and Sandwich Day. GOOD TIMES!!!

To celebrate the death of allergens and sadness of basketball happy children nationwide, I cleaned the house and set out decorated pumpkins and dried corn, and I subjected SP to my cooking. I love to cook, but given work and studying schedules and a long ass commute, I never get to do it. Instead, we eat more pizza and Arby�s than could possibly be imagined. But, I set aside my Saturday to cook like nobody�s business.

It was fun, but frantic. Here�s the proof:

Notice the frenzied look on my face? See the stress vein in my neck popping out and the tension in my arm as I teach that parsley a lesson it�ll never forget?

The result is this beautiful and tasty apple pie that I made entirely from scratch, including the delicate and flaky and mouth watering crust. The only thing pre-made was the apples. Martha, eat your heart out. It was pure sugar and cinnamon yumminess.

However, for that part of the meal I call Pre-dessert, I made a nice salad with hard-boiled egg, and a sausage and spinach lasagna to die for. Who knew I was this talented?

Actually, I�m sure it wouldn�t have won any country fair awards, but it was yummy and it made me happy. I haven�t made an apple pie in so long, and it�s one of those calculated and deliberate tasks I can delve into when I�m feeling stressed out. When I was a kid, I used to make them constantly, since we had apple trees in the back yard. About once a month, I would decide that I didn�t want to subject myself to the taunting hell that is elementary school, and I�d cough and moan until my parents were convinced to let me stay home. The second they left, I grabbed my ladder and apple-picking apron and went to work. When my family got home from school and work, they�d find their 8 year old son and brother standing in the kitchen with a huge grin on his face, proud as could be, holding a warm and delicious homemade pie ready for dessert.

And they actually claimed to be surprised when I came out of the closet ten years later. You have to love denial.