apples for throwing.

Listening To: Bluer by Over The Rhine

Watched: The Help, two days after I finished the book. I would like to write more about both, because I thought they were both incredible, but I'm not sure I can write it right. I don't even know where to start. I'll let it simmer for a while and then try.

Hey friends! Hope you're weekend was mad-gorgeous. And mad-breezy. There were no breezes here. Not much wind at all, in fact. I'm convinced that it's so hot, even the sky can't breathe. I think even the wind is too tuckered out to blow. The grass is brown. The plants are droopy. This is the time of year we affectionately refer to as "hot as blazes."

I gave a new pair of jeans an inaugural wear this weekend - they're skinny jeans, not jeggings (Have we talked about how much I dislike the word "jeggings"?). Matchstick jeans, you might say. Anyhow, I wore them, and by the time I was on the road home again, I came to the conclusion that the denim must made of kryptonite. The sun coming through the glass at just the right angle had me convinced that the fabric was made of metal and fire.

I thought about trying to take them off in the car but I think there are laws against that. And it's not like I had shorts or a skirt to change into, so that would have made the mad dash from my car to my house wonderfully awkward. Also, it would have been wonderfully awkward if I'd been pulled over for swerving or something.

I picture it this way:

Cop: "Miss ... do you realize you were swerving all over the road back there?"

Me: "Yes." *holds up pants* "It's 'cause this denim is made of volcanic ash and it was melting me."

I'm guessing it wouldn't have gone over very well.

(Can you picture Heidi Klum saying, "Designers, today you will design a head-to-toe look made of molten lava. Wow us!")

So my new pants were forged from the fires of Mordor, but they're cute, so they're worth it. I survived them. On Sunday, I wore them again when Mama and I decided to drive over to a local apple orchard to see if any new apples were out.

By which I mean: Mom wanted to drive to the orchard and look for new apples. I wanted to drive to the Orchard because they sell apple fritters in the bakery, and those things are the stuff of dreams.

I was asking the lady who works there about pie apples, because I've noticed everybody has a different pie apple they prefer. Quite honestly, I'm a very traditional apple pie kind of girl. I like Granny Smith apples in my pies - and that's it - because they retain a little bit of texture and the tart-part fades to the perfect sort of sweetness. I like the uniformity of the apples. Apple Pie is not the place for individuality amongst the apples. I can't get down with mushy apples in my pie. I tried once. Back when I made the Apple Tartin, I followed the recipe closely (which called for different varieties of apples). But it made me sad to bite into something that was a shape of an apple slice and taste only apple-gel. I don't play those games.

But I know folks like softer apples in pies, or who mix all different kinds. A friend of mine, who is awesome, has one particular kind of apple she puts in her pies. And so I asked the apple lady about that kind of apple.

And the lady said: "Those are too hard. Ain't good for nothing except chcuking 'em at people you can't stand."

So I asked for two bags.

Kidding. Mostly.

Of course, when the apple lady said those apples were the chucking sort, I did not immediately smile as I imagined chucking apples at certain individuals. Of course I didn't do that. And, if I did throw apples, I wouldn't throw the apples in such a way that they would actually injure pesky someones. I would throw gently. Mostly. ("Dobby didn't mean to kill anyone. Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.")

I want to buy bags of The Chucking Apples on Halloween. I want to put a sign at the end of my driveway that reads: "Yell Trick-or-Treat from ---> This Line."

And I'll leave a helmet or hardhat or something for the trick-or-treater to wear. A Storm Trooper helmet! And I'll also have another sign that says, "Duck." And I'll stand on the porch and throw The Chucking Apples.

Of course, we all know that if I throw apples from the porch, even apples with appropriate aerodynamics for chucking, they'll land approximately two feet from my foot. So I might have to get an apple launcher. A catapult! And I'll invite my two bff's over and we'll sit on the porch and drink hot cocoa and launch apples. Maybe over the years, we'll build a reputation. And someday kids will be like, "Don't go near that house! Old Lady Lloyd's got a catapult."

Pondering the Chucking Apples helped me remember one of my dad's favorite sayings. I haven't heard him bust this phrase out in a while, but he used to say it all the time:

How 'bout them apples?

"How bout them apples" is interchangeable with "Well whatdayaknow?" and "That's just how it is."

Usage: "Tennessee just hired a new football coach. How 'bout them apples?" Also, "You can't watch Full House until you clean your room. How 'bout them apples?"

I don't even know if anybody else says that, ever. But it's one of my favorite phrases of all time and always.

"Trick-or-Treat!"

*chucking apple launches* "Yeah, how 'bout them apples?"

"Ma'am, do you realize you were swerving all over the road back there?"

"Yes. These pants are made of volcanic ash and they were melting me." *shrugs* "How 'bout them apples?"

Apples. They give you fiber. They give you pie. They give you courage.

My question to you: who would you like to throw apples at today? JUST KIDDING DON'T ANSWER THAT.

My real question to you: What's your favorite way to eat an apple?

I hope you have a happy Monday. I hope no apple chucking is required. ; )