On my way home from work today, I stopped at a local farmstand to buy some apples. Just-picked local apples always taste so much better that ones that have been shipped across the country or stored until they’re soft. I ate an apple as I drove home; it was crunchy and tart.
“Want to help me make some apple pies?” I asked With-a-Why. I figured maybe we could bond by baking together.
“I’ll provide music while you make them,” he said. It’s his time-honored way of getting out of chores. He plays so beautifully that I always go for the deal.
He sat down at the piano. I stood at the table and rolled out pie crust to Chopin.