“That one over there.”  I pointed to a large, sky blue Tupperware bowl with my right elbow because my hands were busy scooping Crisco from a large can, the extra value size.  Katie poured the flour and placed the bowl in front of me on the well-worn white and gray marble counter next to the sink.

“Next, you just plop in the Crisco like this.”  I let a scoop of it fall into the bowl and laughed as a cloud of white dust exploded into my face and coated my shirt.

 “Now I know why bakers wear those aprons,” laughed Meredith from Macon. She was the red haired, freckled friend of Katie’s from school and the younger sister of Amanda who was still recovering from the episode at the Naked Pool. For some reason we had started calling her ‘Meredith from Macon’ and it had stuck.

“Next take two regular knives and go like this.” I showed them how to ‘cut’ the shortening into the flour. Because they were bored, the Katie and Meredith had asked me for an impromptu lesson in the lost art of homemade crust.  It was one thing I knew how to make.

Matthew lurked around the outskirts of the lesson not sure of what to do with himself. He didn’t care about piecrust, but he did care about being a part of the gang.

“I know,” he announced as if we had asked him a question. “How about if I set up some music?”

“Sure,” nodded Katie and Meredith.

Matt brought the laptop into the kitchen, set it up on the shelf, and put in our new CD, an Italian artist that we were all in love with—Tiziano Ferro, Italy’s answer to John Mayer.  Katie and I had caught his video on MTV the other day and were happy to find out that his looks were as soothing as his voice.

I handed the knives to Meredith from Macon, and she began to cut like a pro.

“While she does that, we can pare the apples.” Katie grabbed a paring knife and started to peel a Granny Smith. 

“Your mission,” I told her, “is to try to peel the apple around and round in one very long peel.” 

“What?”

“It’s considered good luck. Seriously, my grandmother told me that.” I said as I grabbed another knife and reached for an apple.

“Yeah, okay, Mom.” Katie rolled her eyes to signal to Meredith that I was a dork, but her sudden heightened concentration indicated that she accepted the challenge.

Matt found our favorite song “Non Me lo so Spiegare” and turned up the volume.  Soon the three of them were working away, baptized in flour and passion, and singing at the top of their lungs in Italian. 

I stood back a moment enchanted by this unlikely scene. I loved that my kids were singing with an accent as real as Tiziano’s.  Rolling their r’s and feeling as Italian as he was at that moment.  After eight months of living here, they even knew what he was saying.  I busied myself with my apple peeling, eyes lowered so they didn’t see me staring and thus break the spell.

American Apple pie and Italian love songs—a match made in heaven. As the next tune began to play, Katie casually flung an extremely long apple peel over the table, past my eyes, and into the garbage can.  I rolled my eyes at Meredith from Macon to signal to her that Katie was also a dork.  Then we all broke into a chorus of “Sere Nere” as I showed them how to roll out the dough. They took turns giving it a try and, finally, Katie laid the dough carefully into the pie pan. Matt and Meredith heaped in all of the fresh mele, and I dotted the top with zucchero and canella. It took the four of us to figure out the degree of the oven in centigrade and then we popped it in. 

“Let’s all meet again in an hour or so to eat it,” I said, wiping the flour from my hands.

 “Cool.”

They left the kitchen as well as all of the dirty dishes for me to clean up. I didn’t even care because it gave me a few more minutes to bask in the afterglow of something truly fun. 

Years from now they may not remember much about Genoa, or what fantastic church they visited or piece of artwork they saw by some famous Renaissance painter. But they will remember the day we all taught their friend how to make piecrust and sing in Italian. The girl they met at school.  The one with the quick smile and all of the freckles.  Meredith from Macon.