Up Close and Personal With . . . Apple Crisp

After spending a pair of days in the woods, it was wonderful to have a day at home. And we did the things you might expect: had a nice big cooked breakfast, did a bit of laundry, sorted through the mail, did some mending, took a quick hike up to the woods and back to catch a little afternoon sun, read the Sunday paper and sorted through the sales brochures planning my grocery shopping for the week, watched some movies and some football, did fall clean-up on the front flower bed and culled the green pepper plant (which was looking kind of ragged after a couple of frosts, but my husband had bonded with it and was reluctant to let it go, so we kept it as long as possible - yes, it had white flowers blooming, even at the end), washed a bunch of dishes, and did our best to convince the cat that this whole annual process of "falling back" on the clocks (the clocks "fell back" here on Saturday night) wasn't designed specifically to torment hungry tabbies waiting for their next meal . . .

In the morning, I baked an apple crisp, using some of the apples I swiped from my dad last weekend. The apple crisp turned out plenty tasty, and possibly even better, it spread the scent of apples and cinnamon and sugar all through the house. We didn't have any ice cream on hand, but I bet it would be just lovely served warm with a little melting vanilla or cinnamon ice cream on top. (And maybe a little swirl of warm caramel sauce on top of that, hmm?) The whole house still smells of it. It's better than a candle. The only thing I might do differently next time? Sweets for the sweet, I say: so next time, perhaps just a bit MORE brown sugar . . .

The song: The Rolling Stones with a 1971 performance of Brown Sugar.