An apple - or two - a day. Home remedy #1.

It's hard times, as they say, on Main Street. Mama's nest has not gone unscathed -- though her layoff was, incredibly, entirely unrelated to the financial collapse on Wall Street. Rather, it was spectacularly bad timing. But mama rarely does anything without FLAIR. Wheeee!

What a coincidence that just as Dada is shoring up the cracks in our leaky basement, new fissures appear in our tentative financial foundation. Big breath in, big breath out.

It was time to get our minds back to simpler things, to get our bodies back to the most basic gestures. It's harvest time on our side of the globe. What better way to find our center than by reaching our arms into the branches of an apple-heavy tree? What better way to ease our minds than by watching a sweet, eager girl-child tromping through an orchard?

There were 82 varieties. Some crisp and sour, some large and sweet, some green, some pink, some red, some juicier than others, some surprising in their perfection beyond the mottled skins. We found the most straightforward satisfaction in polishing the dusty skins against our jeans to uncover the rosy sheen.

Apple sauce and apple butter are simmering on the stove, now. Stocking the pantry and cleaning the storm windows feels purposeful, rather than luxurious, this year. Good milk, warm bread, and a full apple barrel in the cellar ... it's enough. Clear eyes and easy smiles, difficulties reduced down to contrariness over naps and juice -- once again, Nora leads the way.