The sour cream and apples that saved Thanksgiving

I never would have made it in the Scouts.
Last Wednesday evening, I was scheduled to cover a Town of Delaware board meeting – leaving me little time to prep for my part of Thanksgiving dinner.
The turkey and the fixings in the able hands of my parents, I had volunteered to contribute my usual batch of muffins.
But I wanted to mix things up this year, step outside the same old apple cinnamon spice routine.
I’ll make the pumpkin muffins I found in one of my cookbooks, I promised, and throw a few raisins in for an extra boost of iron.
It sounded simple enough, and I knew there was a hearty stock of raisins in the pantry on hand for a fast snack for Jillian.
The only problem was time.
So as I zipped up my camera bag and threw on my coat to leave for the meeting, I asked Jonathan to pull out a few sticks of butter to soften.
His question was innocent enough.
“How many?” he asked.
I didn’t know. So I sent him to pull out that cookbook while I finished winterizing my attire for the trip to Hortonville.
He had it open to the page when I took a glance at the page.
Uh oh.
These muffins promised to remain moist for days – thanks to a dollop of plain yogurt.
Our refrigerator, unfortunately, held only the last few bottles of drinkable strawberry – with Dora the Explorer on the label promising they’re “delicioso.”
Pumpkin and strawberry? I don’t think so.
So driving back from the meeting later that night, I zipped into the Trading Post in North Branch. Fingers crossed, I went straight for the dairy section.
I’ll give them credit. For a small store in the middle of nowhere, they were well-stocked.
But when I asked the guy standing next to me where in the heck I could find vanilla yogurt on the night before Thanksgiving, he told me what the cooler couldn’t: “Not here.”
I stepped back and assessed, and my eyes lit on a pint-sized container of Daisy sour cream.
I whipped open the glass door, and grabbed for it.
“Gonna fake it?” the guy next to me asked.
“I’m gonna try,” I said.
I paid the cashier and walked out a woman on a mission, good luck wishes from my fellow convenience store shopper ringing in my ear.
I paraded into the house like the cat that had caught the canary – I’d done one better, I’d saved Thanksgiving.
Or so I thought.
I quickly got to work whipping up the softened butter, grabbing eggs from the fridge and measuring out flour. Then I hit the cupboard for my pumpkin.
Expired, April 2007. Oops.
Oh well, I figured, there’s no mold. It’ll have to do.
I cut through the top and threw a few spoonfuls into the mix.
I was halfway through the list of ingredients when it jumped out at me . . . oatmeal.
I needed oatmeal. For muffins? Tonight?
That’s it, I said. That’s it.
No yogurt. Expired pumpkin. And now no oatmeal?
Thank goodness, I had apples.
And let me tell you, that sour cream made the best apple cinnamon spice muffins I’ve ever baked.

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