Apple Pie

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Today we bought apples. Lots of apples. For eating and for making pie. Apples are my daughter’s favorite food.

On the way home from the store, she asked, “Can I have an apple?”

“Sure, bug, when we get home.”

“Do you want an apple, mommy?”

“Yeah, I should probably have an apple, too. I haven’t really been taking care of myself.”

“That’s okay, I’ll take care of you.”

Oh man, right in the heart.

I hadn’t meant to say that part about not taking care of myself. The truth just unconsciously rolled off my tongue. I keep vowing to quit sugar. Then I click on The Atlantic and see a bunch of white nationalists gathered at the Reagan building in D.C. doing Hitler salutes, and suddenly I need sugar in my coffee and a piece of buttered toast. I make phone calls and sign petitions and struggle with a helpless feeling in the swirl of this madness. None of it is okay. Bigotry will never be the new normal. I will continue to resist it with my entire being.

I will make a beautiful apple pie. I will love my family. I will resist the fascists. It’s holiday season 2016.

(Post 307 of 365)

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