Saturday, October 30, 2010
There's a whole lot of candy in our house. Halloween means two bouts of trick-or-treating plus school parties and M is away next week so guess to whom the job of consumption falls? Not on the children - cavities! - at least not all of it. But don't tell them. I am one of those parents who sneaks into the candy cabinet after her kids are asleep and chooses multiple delicacies to snarf while watching TV or pretending to work. I know, pathetic. And they never notice that their bags are lighter every morning. I have always been a big fan of sugar. Two tablespoons in my coffee, a diminutive canyon sprinkled over my cereal, cupcakes (oh, cupcakes), cookie dough even though I know it will give me heartburn - yes, me and sugar are like this. So the thought of being alone during the off-hours to, ahem, borrow as many individually wrapped pieces as I can carry makes me quake with both anticipation and dread. Because, after 35 years and three babies, my metabolism no longer takes the chocolate, caramel and nougat in stride. Now those delectable ingredients sit and wait for me to do something proactive - like getting my heart rate over 60 - before they take their leave. If they take their leave. Some of them seem determined to squat on my ass forever. And, while I picture someday being able to climb mountains and run a dozen country roads before dawn, the present-day reality is that exercise time is at a premium. (see above: children.) One saving element: Sour Patch Kids. Sour candy? I just don't understand the appeal. If only all their candy were sour...
I headed south Tuesday with books, camera, waterbottle and friend in tow we left a somewhat gloomy sky behind us. I was being interviewed-- for a radio broadcast as it turns out-- and had wanted some company for the trip. In return I promised a delicious lunch, good company and a stop at at least one yarn store. But alas my interview took much longer than I had anticipated, and the plan to drive even further south to the Yarn Store of Our Dreams was just not to be. I was cranky, I was crabby. I was sour and dour; I just couldn't seem to get the bad taste out of my mouth. This may have also been caused by my accidental overdressing in anticipation of a much colder day. In fact the weather was so glorious, we walked over to the park with my camera--the colored leaves were calling to me. We tried to console ourselves by coming up with Plan B. But. The yarn store in town happened to be closed on Tuesdays. The other nearby yarn store I had remembered as being wonderful from a few years back had closed in March. Disappointed doesn't begin to describe my mood. We got in the car and drove a bit before stopping at Green Mountain Spinnery, the saving grace of our trip. We looked at new books, admired colorways, fantasized about patterns. We chatted with the wonderful woman there about charity knitting, trips to cold places and Canons vs. Nikons. She even allowed me to take a few pictures. The yarn they were hanging reminded me of long strips of apple or lime licorice, the kind that's coated with a little bit of sugar so your mouth is instantly filled with a sweet and sour sensation. From there we drove home feeling pleased about the day. As I pulled up to my house, I was welcomed by the glowing lights from the windows. I walked in the door only to be greeted by risotto on the stove and was immediately handed an icy cold beverage; as it so happens a mixture of black cherry seltzer and sour cherry nectar. This is definitely the sweet life, how happy I am that it's mine.