There are those things that happen every day in our lives that define who we are at the time.
Raising children was the happiest and most substantial of times in my life, the things we did together, and what we enjoyed together, how we lived.
We ate meals together, we read books while we were eating, or talked, but meal time was always good. Food was important, I thought I was making nutritional meals and healthy snacks simply by making them myself. Through the years, I discovered what was not healthy was sugars and white flours, things like that, but the transition of understanding and lifestyle was slow.
I was shopping at a sidewalk produce market, where a young Italian boy told me his grandmother did not use any sugars in their apple pies. It was a combination of apples that made it just right, along with few, but perfect, spices.
My crust was made with real butter and whole grain flour, my pie filling made with that little Italian boy’s grandma’s apple recipe… give or take a little of this or that.
I thought it was so healthy, we would eat them for breakfast, or supper, or whenever. I’d make 6 at a time.
“A Taste of Home” – 18″x14″ – Oil
I haven’t been able to eat too many of any pies for some time now, but I savor the memories of eating together with my children. I love the bowl with the red stripe that was found at a yard sale, a hand cutting blender for the butter into the flour that I bought from Goodwill, a rolling pin from my husband’s aunt for our wedding gift. The “salmon pink” counters (that came before I got there) tell a story of a house I once lived in, wanting to change the color of the counters yet never getting to it. Even the counters tell a happy tale now.
I still have this painting, will pass it on and not sell it. They can later if they desire. For me, it holds a representation of dear, dear times.