With My Free Time

I bake of course. My father-in-law has this pear-apple hybrid fruit tree that bears a ton of fruit. I receive bags of pear-apples, my mother receives bags of pear-apples which she shares with her father. Now, this pear-apple hybrid fruit looks like a small green apple, tastes like a cross of pear and apple, and when you cut into it looks like a small squat pear. It's not bad at all, but what do you do with so many of these little fruits?

After being laid-off and waiting for my teaching credential classes to start (next Monday by the way) I have a lot of time on my hands. Not wanting these ripe little fruits to go bad, and becoming a little tired of eating them, I decided to bake a pie for my mother's birthday. I wanted to bake her a carrot cake but was told by both my brothers not to bake her a cake. They had ordered a "Princess cake" that cost a lot of money and we were going to have that. I said OK and backed down just a little bit. They didn't say anything about pies. Too bad my mother doesn't like this little fruit, oh well.

So I followed and improvised an apple pie recipe I read in an old recipe book my mother gave me. (OK, so I borrowed it for a banana bread and a zucchini bread recipe and never gave it back. Hey, she wasn't using it and hadn't used it in many moons.) Two hours later and it was done. It just needed to cool.

I drove to my parent's home where my siblings and I were meeting to take our mother out for dinner. When I arrived my mother was in her comfortable shorts and tank top lounging on the couch watching TV. "Now that's how you celebrate your birthday," I said with glee, "doing absolutely nothing!"


She raised an eyebrow and asked what I had in my hand. "It smells good. Apple?"

"Hmm, not quite. It's apple-pear pear-apple pie," I replied. My mother made a face. "I made it so you know it's good and you have to eat it," I retorted as I walked into the kitchen.

"Do I have to?" she whined.

"Yes. Now get dressed we're going to take you out to a Japanese restaurant."

My mother sighed and slowly got up.

After dinner we sang her Happy Birthday and cut the "Princess Cake" only because it was covered with a green marzipan. It was a beautiful cake but a little too sweet for many of my family's taste. Next we cut into my pie and it was gone within minutes, except for my mother's slice. Her excuse, "I'm too full. I'll have it tomorrow morning with my coffee." Uh-huh was all I can say. But seeing her defend her piece of pie and hiding it from my father I knew she would eat it the next day. My father then eyed the other slice I saved for my husband.

My mother absolutely loved my pear-apple apple-pear pie. My husband also loved the one bite he had before accidentally dropping it. He was so angry with himself I swear he was ready to punch the wall. The only thing I can say to calm him down was to ask for more fruit to bake him an entire pie for him. I was given another bag of pear-apples the next day and I finally managed to bake it this morning. It smells so heavenly.