I ONLY HAVE APPLE PIES FOR YOU

'Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers. - William Shakespeare

As the last dead apple fell from the tree late this Summer, I wondered why I didn't get a pie. My wife makes great apple pies but I didn't deliver any fresh fruit for the baking. I grew up hunting and fishing and getting whippings if we ever wasted either the kill or the catch, so how is it I let a tree full of fruit go to waste? I truly represent the species of speed. It's much easier buying apple pies 2 for a dollar at McDonald's than picking, peeling and preparing our own.

I used to joke that my dad would stand in front of the Microwave and yell, "C'mon!!" but he's hardly alone in this generation that barely let's the VCR warmup before fast forwarding to the good parts of the movie. But, back to that apple pie. Would I really enjoy eating a pie I had ownership in, more than something store bought?

I had this dream that Martha Stewart called me about my apples. "Billy," she says, "You know you really shouldn't let those apples go to waste." I reply, "But.. but.." Martha interrupts, "Many years ago a farmer got up from his plate of bacon gristle, eggs and lard toast to plant the seeds for those trees. Some bees took time out from licking the tops of old Coke cans to cross pollinate the blossoms. And good ole Mr. Weather was there every day feeding and nourishing your tree. Never mind he was busy elsewhere with El Nino, Brush Fires and isolating trailer parks in Alabama. You should be ashamed."

"But I really was busy this summer," I replied. "Hogwash," she said taking another gulp from her bottle of Jack Daniels. "How stupid do you think I am; I'm not Julia Child you know, or that Cajun Cooking guy with the accent like he's had one too many air bag induced head injuries."

Luckily for me the abuse stopped when I woke abruptly to the sound of the television. You could tell it was really late at night because ESPN had a Karate competition featuring 1st year Yellow Belts. The competitors would start strong but most of the matches descended to nothing more than name calling and girly slapping.

I was getting hungry for some apple pie though. In Peachtree City there is nothing open in the middle of the night except for Kroger, Waffle House and a combination Golf Cart - Mini Van dealership. Passing on the Waffle House pie ala conspiracy conversations, I headed to Kroger to find a dessert to satisfy my appetite.

I realized then, that today's typical grocery story is a veritable church of convenience living. Women were kneeling at the altar of the disposable diaper, weeping with joy for the "Potty Training Pullup." The frozen synagogue of the Microwave Meal drew many disciples. Hosannas went up to the Harbinger Orville Reddenbacher for his Microwave Popcorn, pleasing the multitudes who needed to save the extra 45 seconds for a movie time snack.

I chose the apple pie's succinct sister, the apple fritter. I watched it roll on the conveyor belt, where it was scanned and I paid for it by swiping my ATM card. I ate it before I got home. So much for patient living. Martha Stewart was out there somewhere; crying in her instant coffee.

Billy Murphy -- 9/16/98