Awhile back someone invited me to a bi-monthly outdoor gathering.  I was happy and surprised but asked if it would be OK if I brought my nine year old along.  My husband works late hours and I will not leave her alone.  Given that we are still in the midst of a pandemic I try to be cautious with any type of socializing — whether for her, myself, or with my husband’s extended family.  They said she’d be the only kid but that she was welcome.  I assured them, as an Episcopalian (or “Whiskeypalian”) she was no stranger to seeing wine.  I TRULY did not think my little one would want to go but I asked.  Before I had even finished she’d run upstairs and donned her winter hat, coat, gloves and boots; jumping up and down and pronouncing she was ready!  Blinking, I said I would put on a wrap and get a bottle of wine from our pantry.  It was almost dark, but we could just make out the welcoming crackle of the fire pit and the soft, portable chairs arranged in a circle around it.  I only recognized the man who’d so kindly invited me but the little group was open and nice.  To this day, the greatest culinary delight I have ever had remains in discovering freshly roasted chestnuts when it was only October in Paris.  All those years I’d heard my beloved Nat King Cole sing of chestnuts roasting by an open fire, but I’d never actually tasted one until I was 44.  My gluten intolerant one had literally plowed through two and a half bags of jumbo marshmallows but she was so grateful and ecstatic no one seemed to mind.  To my surprise and delight, I discovered my friend had brought chestnuts.  CHESTNUTS!!!  I’d only ever had them that time in Paris and, as we roasted them, he and I agreed that Paris is magic and nothing compares with theirs.  Still!  I had no idea where one could even acquire any chestnuts in Dallas and I was thrilled.  Meanwhile, another kind man was showing pictures of his grandchildren to my little one on his iPhone.  Everyone watched out for her with a firm but gentle collective eye as it became darker.  The moon rose overhead and our circle moved in a little closer to the fire.  I snapped the picture above and I will never forget the look of sheer delight on my only child’s face.  The ancient Greek philosopher and essayist Plutarch said, “The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled.”  I love that.  I took us on this outing intending to stay about an hour.  It turned out I had to cut my little party girl off after almost three; ironically coinciding with the number of bags of marshmallows she’d consumed.  We walked away chilled and a little tired, but happy.  I couldn’t help but reflect upon how welcoming these people were to have included us.  She and I left feeling there is a special kind of magic in firelight and fellowship.

Of all the major soda pops in America, Dr. Pepper is the oldest.  It was invented by the pharmacist Charles Alderton in 1885 in Waco, Texas.  Made with 23 flavors, it has been said the owner of the drugstore where it was sold named the drink after his good friend Dr. Charles Pepper.  It gained such a widespread following that other soda fountain operators in Waco began buying the syrup and serving it.  By 1891 the growth of Dr. Pepper became so huge they formed a new firm, the Artesian Mfg. and Bottling Company, which later became the Dr. Pepper company.  In 1904 Dr. Pepper was introduced to almost 20 million people attending The World’s Fair Exposition in St. Louis that year.  From 1910 to 1914, Dr. Pepper was identified with the slogan, “King of Beverages.”  At that time research was discovered that sugar levels providing energy for the average person fell during a typical day at 10:30, 2:30, and 4:30.  A new advertising slogan was formed saying, “Drink a bite to eat at 10, 2 and 4.”  As I began my research for this blog I learned that in 1923 the company moved from Waco to Dallas; my hometown.  The period was dropped from the name in the 1950’s and the slogan became, “Dr Pepper, the friendly Pepper-Upper.”  I can still remember the shock I experienced in the late 1980’s when I went to visit Minnesota.  The people were all very friendly … but they literally had THREE soda dispensers EACH both for Coca-Cola AND Pepsi everywhere from restaurants, to the mall, and even their fantastic zoo.  I just could not believe it!!!  It was like NO ONE knew about Dr. Pepper up there!  It is practically akin to water here.  FINALLY a little gas station was discovered which sold the “exotic” drink in small quantities.  In a previous blog I believe I wrote about tearfully breaking up with a boy over soda preferences.  The famous singer Cher is quoted as once having said, “I can’t do coffee, but can do Dr. Pepper.”  I’d say that summed up my mama’s tastes.  I also believe I have written in a previous blog about not eating turkey since 1976.  That’s because when I was seven (the following year) I recall my mother trying to teach me how to cook a turkey.  Between the yawning, cavernous hole and the mysterious bag of “parts” I was OUT at seven; hence the year 1976.  I was already allergic to seafood so the turkey simply became another critter I couldn’t stomach on my “protected” list.  After that I can recall Mama switching to ham.  What she managed to cook from our tiny galley kitchen in our small apartment humbles me still to this day.  I think I’ve freaked our little one out on turkey (unwittingly) and my poor husband loves meat.  Our little girl does as well, but she has inherited my squeamish/sympathetic tendencies.  So when the hubs suggested a “ham steak” for Thanksgiving I had absolutely NO idea what he was talking about.  Then I recalled watching Mama bake her incredible ham.  So there I was with my precious little family in the grocery store Thanksgiving morning.  I felt inadequate knowing Mama would have already had her ham baking overnight in the oven.  God BLESS my sweet husband, who offered to go over to the butcher’s and inquire.  I know that for him food is very much an extension of love.  So my husband bought the ham and I endeavored to cook it.  I didn’t use a recipe; I just found myself automatically lining a deep baking pan with aluminum foil and scoring the ham just like my mother used to.  I opened a bottle of Cherry Dr Pepper, took a swig straight from its container (it was only for the three of us!) and then I slowly drizzled it over the ham.  After being in the oven for an hour I took it out to pour pineapple juice on it, and then recalled something about mustard.  So I got out my French Dijon (which I am never without) and mixed it together with the pineapple juice.  Dumping some more Cherry Dr Pepper on it, I put pineapple rings with maraschino cherries all over it just like Mama used to.  Offering up a silent prayer, I stuck it back in to bake for another two hours.  We took a walk with our wolf hybrids and then I began preparing the side dishes.  Our little girl decorated the table with the acorns and leaves she’d collected on our walk, while my husband proudly accepted my request to “mash” the potatoes.  I know big families have sometimes looked upon mine (both when I was a child and now that I am a mother) with pity.  Three is a sacred number for many reasons …  It was a picture perfect Thanksgiving and my husband and daughter both raved and raved over the ham.  Turns out I forgot to baste it with brown sugar like Mama did.  Despite my oversight, I believe I have my little family’s happiness to thank, I suspect, to the “Texas Water.”

I think I was in the fifth grade when I told my folks I no longer wanted to be a part of an elite choir called The Dallas Girls’ Chorus.  My public school elementary teacher, Mrs. Martin, had suggested when I was in the third grade that I try out.  I think I sang for a year and a half and I absolutely LOVED it.  I never wanted to quit the choir!!  Then the entire chorus of maybe 100 something girls got the opportunity to travel to Washington D.C. to sing for the current President of the Untied States.  I knew there was no way my folks could get that kind of money and I wanted to protect them from the pain and embarrassment I felt.  They had sacrificed a lot just to provide for my uniform!  I felt guilty, but not as much as if I had told them how ruthlessly I was shunned by the choristers there.  I distinctly remember this one girl in particular, who wore her beautiful dark hair in two French braids.  Once when we were standing in line at the water fountain during a break the girl in front of me said to her that she liked her hair.  With a hollow voice, I can still recall her saying, “the maid did it.”  That is the precise moment I realized just how very rich I was.  It killed me to leave the choir but I knew I had the unconditional, unwavering love and support of my parents; parents who were ALWAYS there for me.  As I look back I feel it was deplorable to not somehow provide for the maybe four girls who could not afford to make the trip.  But what does all this have to do with a sugar rush?  Well, every now and then when I was a kid the ice cream truck would stop by our apartment complex.  Daddy always had quarters and he would send me out to the black top road to choose something.  I am married now and we live in a house with a little girl of our own.  I had not heard the sound of a real ice cream truck in four decades!  Our third grader heard the music from a distance and shrieked with glee!  She asked if she could go see if they had anything for her that was gluten-free.  I texted my girlfriend who lives about a mile away with a little girl about the same age.  She told me he was going sort of door-to-door by request (text) and was kind enough to pass along our address.  When that truck pulled up I felt so very small again.  Sure enough, they had some old school classics I had loved that were gluten-free.  My little girl jumped up and down and thanked the man repeatedly.  I could feel her excitement and saw the light in her eyes.  The young man could not have been more genuinely kind.  Since they accepted credit, I added an “adult” ice cream on for myself.  You have not LIVED until you’ve had whiskey ice cream!!!  As I spoke with the operator, I learned it was a family business.  The magic and wonder those tunes and that truck managed to bring back was indescribable.  Dylan Lauren, the daughter of the American fashion designer Ralph Lauren, said, “People will say candy is recession-proof, and we’re definitely seeing nostalgic candies coming about, and people want that sugar rush and that nostalgic happiness, like their childhood times.”  I told Mr. Sugar Rush that anytime he was in the neighborhood he could count on us!  Childhood lasts for but a moment; magical memories last a lifetime.  Life is short:  if the opportunity presents itself and you are able — indulge in the sugar rush.