There, I met a young woman whose sweetheart is on a peace-keeping mission in Afghanistan, and it made me think to remember the sacrifice our present soldiers and their loved ones are making in the name of peace.
As I was rolling out pastry tops, I remembered my elderly friend, May, who lived through the bombings in London during WWII. Her father would insist that they make tea, eat biscuits, and sing happy tunes while the bombs fell all around them. "If we die tonight, we will die happy," her father would tell his family. They survived, and May recounted those terrifying times with a tenderness in her heart for her father's brave attempt at keeping them sane.
I was using my maternal great-grandmother's rolling pin to roll out the pastry, which made me remember my grandmother's cousin who survived a grenade blast in World War II. He was saved by his best friend who threw himself on the grenade. My grandmother would get misty eyed whenever she told me this story. I always wondered if she had been sweet on the boy who died so bravely.
We made the pastry,
peeled, cored, and cut up apples,
peeked,
decorated,
laughed,
taught,
guided,
beamed,
filled,
and we produced over one hundred pies!
