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The story is a slice-of-life narrative baked with humor and tenderness, offering both laughter and reflection. It sits comfortably between memoir and comic sketch, proving that even a simple pie can carry the weight of memory, love, and laughter.

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Apple Pie Flash Memoir

I never meant to betray the apples. Really, I didn’t. Marie and I had just picked them from our small backyard orchard, and she carried her basket like a trophy. “These,” she declared, “are going to make us healthier.”

I nodded solemnly, already considering how to prepare them with butter and sugar.

Back in the kitchen, she washed the apples while I sharpened the knife. “Salad?” she asked.
“Pie,” I answered.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Soon the counters were covered in flour as though a storm had passed through. Marie was laughing at my lopsided crust, insisting hers looked “like the cover of a baking magazine.” I countered that hers looked “like it was holding on for dear life.” The apples—once so smug on their branches—were now bubbling away under cinnamon and butter, caught in the middle of our playful bickering.

When the pie finally came out golden and proud, we sat down with coffee. The untouched apples, still in the bowl, glared at us like survivors of a kitchen mutiny. Marie raised her fork toward them and said, “Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn.”

Perhaps they will. However, between bites, I realized that fresh apples may keep you honest, whereas pie—especially pie with Marie—keeps you laughing. And that’s the sweetest memory of all.

Ode to the Pie on the Table

A bowl of green apples sits smug in a row,
As if to declare, “We warned you, you know!”
For down on the table, all golden and sly,
Rests their baked cousin—one plump apple pie.

The crust is all flaky, the filling’s a dream,
A sugary river, a cinnamon stream.
A mug of hot coffee sits proudly beside,
Prepared for the feast, its partner in pride.

But here comes the thought (and here comes the sigh):
Apples are healthy… until they’re in pie.
Still life’s short and fleeting, so why should we fret?
The sweetest reflections are best when still warm and a la mode yet.