A Sweet Time

I heard a voice from above today, shouting "Thou shalt NOT eat any more sweets!" HE knows I've overindulged in folding my tongue over the pieces of sugary substance for the last two weeks. Before breakfast, during and after meals, late nights when the rest of the house is sleeping.

Fudge, glorious fudge, lying on the plate like a soft blanket. Spiked with chopped pecans. A ritual of Christmases past, forgotten as kids grew older. Now revived by son Jim declaring "It's time for fudge, Dad!" I dig around boxes of old recipes to find the spotted recipe written in pencil on aged card stock. Through trial and error Richard perfected his recipe from that on the cocoa box: evaporated milk, white sugar(which we rarely use nowadays), butter, Hershey's cocoa, and more pecans than needed. Snap, snap went the cameras as the liquid brown gold bubbled in the pan, Dad proudly posing with spoon in hand.

After years of abstinence, this fudge was perfect enough for the dogs of indulgence--us.

Two days later, just when the remaining family members had received their photos, a call came in: "Dad, I want fudge for my birthday." The kid who rarely ate sweets remembered the taste. And his birthday was a few days away.

Dad laid out the utensils, gathered the ingredients and went to work again. Once more the aroma of chocolate filled our senses. We chocoholics gathered around to watch the magic of milk and sugar turn into perfection. But the consistency didn't work this time. Ohhh, no one was disappointed--we weren't satiated yet.

Third time was a charm. A few days later two boxes of just-right fudge were on their way to New York and Maine.

I have gone two days without a crumb of fudge, drinking more than the normal amount of water, avoiding the weight scales, trying to ignore the nudge of my brain sending my mouth orders to salivate. Every thirty seconds my mind shoves all visions of fudge into a corner of my brain. I've pigged out.....until next Christmas.