An apple picking trip, a free turkey, and a little rutabaga lesson (7 Quick Takes)

~1~

It has been a few years since we’ve gone apple picking. So, when we realized we had a few free hours on a sunny Saturday, we headed up to Baugher’s to pick apples.

We’ve never gone so late in the season, so there weren’t as many apples to choose from. But we collected two bags of apples and made a few memories before we headed home. I always forget that apple picking is so slippery. It was beautiful, though, especially on what felt like a summer day.

Now, I have two bags of apples sitting on my counter, begging me to bake them into something delicious. It’s a great problem to have.

~2~

When we woke up the next morning, I found an oatmeal recipe I could make in our Instapot.

I’m feeling a little more confident with the Instapot after having some good success with soups. The oatmeal was delicious and warm and magically used up…one whole apple.

I am starting to feel an apple pie in my future and maybe some apple cakes. I haven’t made this apple cake since I made one in the early days of the pandemic.

~3~

The other day, my father texted me from the grocery store to tell me he had earned a free turkey. He uses our phone number to collect the bonus card savings, so I congratulated him and said we would invite ourselves over to dinner to enjoy it.

I have no doubt my father has earned that turkey fully on his own since our card probably isn’t tied to our landline. But it seemed like a good reason to invite ourselves to dinner.

The turkey was exceptional, and the sides were delicious. Then my mother pulled out her pumpkin pie, and I was blown away, as I always am.

We might not even need Thanksgiving this year.

~4~

You’re probably wondering what we bring when we invite ourselves to my parents’ house for dinner. My father asked us to pick up some rutabaga, so we showed up with four large rutabagas. I was going to cook it—and had done my research—but my father wanted to handle it, so we just carried ugly, waxy rutabagas into the house.

During my research, I learned that the rutabaga is a staple of the traditional Eastern European diet, it’s a blend between a cabbage and a turnip, and it’s packed with vitamins. I also discovered that you can slice off the end and microwave it for a few minutes to make it easier to peel. (I haven’t tried this myself. I just learned it in my YouTube video watching.)

If you’re not a rutabaga person, I imagine you’ve already gone to the next take. But my parents always have rutabaga on the table for their Thanksgiving feast.

~5~

Our dishwasher is still broken. I recognize there are many larger problems in the world, but it’s either been six weeks or forever.

I also don’t think the inventor of the dishwasher is celebrated enough. And the person who might deserve the most credit for the modern-day dishwasher is Josephine Cochran.

~6~

Our older son turns 15 later this week—on the same day that my sister Treasa and brother-in-law George celebrate 10 years of marriage. That is also the anniversary of the day I started my current job at Loyola 14 years ago. Oh, and it’s Treasa’s half-birthday.

Obviously, around our house, one of these takes the cake, and all our energy will be focused on the 15^th birthday. But I enjoy the multiple layers of festivities and how they’re all interwoven together. It’s kind of fun that I started a job on the first birthday of a child I hadn’t met who would become my son. God writes such wonderful stories.

~7~

The other night, after I went to All Souls’ Day Mass, I was walking across the church parking lot when I struck up a conversation with a man who was walking to his car, too.

He recounted the parts of the Mass and the homily that had been most touching to him, including the words of St. John Vianney that our pastor had used to explain how we are all journeying home toward heaven.

The man told me that when his mother passed away, he knew she was on her way to be with his father, and that he could feel Jesus welcoming her home.

We exchanged first names and smiles and went on our way. As I climbed into our van, I told my son—who was with me—that I felt a little as if I had talked to an angel. This man I didn’t know at all had nudged me to look again at an experience and squeeze all I could out of it spiritually.

His words have stayed with me this week, during this time of year when our deceased loved ones can seem so close and yet so far away.

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