Fried apples and grandkids
Returning from spending two days with grandkids, I found near-empty refrigerator and pantry. I knew what to expect; planned to stop for groceries on the way home, but opted to drive straight through, bypassing all of the great super markets located within the 150 mile stretch between Boulder and Haxtun, the small Colorado town where I reside.
The visit with grandkids opened on Wednesday, Dec. 22 when I retrieved granddaughter Shannon from her Southwest Airline flight at Denver International Airport. Shannon’s flights never occur without incident and this one delivered as promised. She arrived at 8:10 a.m., her flight right on time. Her luggage came through the carousal at approximately 9:30 a.m., having taken a later flight due to the holiday crowds.
Not ones to let a good mishap pass us by, Shannon and I sat near the carousal watching as child after child walked slowly past Brieanna my eight-pound wonder Poodle with longing etched on each face. “Does your dog bite?” Each posed the question with timid hope.
“Not at all,” Shannon told them, “She loves a good soft petting if you would like.”
The small frowns turned into smiles while Brieanna rolled over to offer up her belly for rub after rub.”
When she began to want play more than pets, I told the happy kids she had probably gotten her fill of petting and they politely said, ‘thanks,” and walked away to enjoy Christmas with the faint memory of puppy petting. Of course, this puppy is now nearing seven years old, but kids only see small, not age, when it comes to a dog.
Luggage retrieved and loaded following our mile-long trek to the far-reaches of the cheap parking, Shannon and I headed for Boulder, where we ate lunch at a Red Lobster and then settled in for a day of shopping. Shannon makes shopping fun even for those of us who generally only do the walk-in, get-what-you-need, walkout kind. My beautiful granddaughter, generally a loving, caring registered nurse, is a shoe czar. She shows no fear, going from rhinestone-studded flip-flops to four-inch killer heels in a flash of an isle. At five-foot-ten inches, Shannon wears these needlepoint heels without fear, adding to her elegant stature and turning heads wherever she goes.
Late that night, checked into our room, we awaited the arrival of Shannon’s brother and sister, Mitchell and Sierra, and Mitchell’s bride, Kim. The four piled into the room at around 11 a.m., adding four more pieces of luggage to the two Shannon and I arrived with, two snowboards, an air mattress and arms of Christmas gifts that soon became gifts, wrapping paper and boxes. The air mattress took up any spare space on the floor and after a good many stories and laughs, we settled down to share snores and the breathing of the sleeping. It felt just like a wonderful slumber party that only the young enjoy, and grandma enjoyed it tremendously.
The next morning, the four grandkids headed for the slopes and grandma headed home where the next morning she found a short food supply, a few eggs, a couple of apples and no bread, when it came time to fix breakfast. Time to make do with scrambled eggs and apple, but not just any old apple. I wanted something hot and yummy. It was, after all, Christmas Eve morning.
I took the apple; in this case, a nice Gala but it could be any kind (Golden Delicious work nicely). I cored and sliced it and tossed the thick sections into a small skillet along with a tablespoon of melted butter. On top, I sprinkled a dash of sea salt, a small amount of dried thyme (I suppose fresh thyme would work better, but I had none.) and teaspoon or so of sugar. I let the apple slices fry in the butter without stirring for about 4-5 minutes then turned them before allowing them to fry another 4-5 minutes. I then removed the fried apple slices to a warmed plate and scrambled an egg in the juices left in the skillet.
The apple slices added a gentle sweet yet tart crunch along side the softer mellow egg. A satisfying way to start a great day of contemplating my wonderful grandmotherly memories. Wonderful!