‘Tis the season.
It begins about the middle of September. They begin to appear, slowly at first, and then in huge hoards, piles actually. And it isn’t over until after Easter.
Unfortunately I notice. Because I have a problem. I can’t help myself, but I’ve been addicted for years, and this six to seven month period is torture for someone like me, who has such a weakness, such a character flaw, such an addiction.
I’ve tried to stop in so many ways. But you know how it is. You get your high from one thing and when it isn’t available, you move on to something else, something that might be worse.
My drug has different names and comes in different forms. First, in September it arrives in the shape of tiny 3-D oblong triangles, orange, white and yellow, mocking me from every counter in the grocery store.
Candy corn. Indian corn. Mellow-cream pumpkins.
September and October pass and we move directly into holiday candy. Do you know what it is like to be forced year after year to make homemade toffee, toffee that is so rich and buttery that standing near it while you are putting the upside-down Hershey bars on it can cause a state of euphoria so intense it is almost indescribable? And the pies. Pumpkin pie with a crust made of Crisco and real whipped cream on top.
December, the holiday parties continue and I’m tied in knots when the Hagerstown, Indiana Abbott caramels come in the mail. (Those Abbotts are not related to me, but I wish they were.) Again the grocery store taunts me with the Brach’s Christmas nougats. And I hate to admit this but every the cheapest box of chocolate colored cherries calls out to me like a siren on the rocks.
Christmas makes me long for the holidays of my childhood, and I long for those sweet memories, Aunt Zoe’s crunchy peanut brittle, my Grandmother LeNore’s 100-proof rum balls, and divinity made by my mother.
Throughout the holidays, there are the butter cookies with frosting from the Donut Bank, starting in September with orange pumpkins, then Christmas bells, then hearts, and then pastel bunnies. All buttery and sugary and delightful on the tongue.
Two special words for December 25th and they are not “Merry Christmas.”
New Year’s Eve. Of course, my favorite drink is champagne. I’m not much of a drinker, but of course if I HAD to choose a drink, wouldn’t it be something with the highest sugar content? Call it mimosa, champagne cocktail, Bellini, I’ll take it anyway I can get it.
Do I need to mention that Valentine’s Day comes next? Can you save five pound box of Steven Libs meltaways? And those little pastel candies that no one else likes, but I do that look like fat Necco wafers? (I’m the only one on a tour of Boston last June who was disappointed that we did not get to tour the New England Confectionary Company.)
Valentine’s Day slides right into Easter and that is the most insidious temptation of all. Peeps. Cadbury Eggs. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Eggs.
So today is November 12th. I have yet to eat one piece of candy corn.
Unfortunately I recently discovered homemade almond biscotti, so my sweet tooth has been fairly sated with that crunchy treat.
Pray that I have strength until we get to summer (which arrives here around April 15th) and it’s too darn hot to want anything but iced tea.