National Candy Corn Day

As we approach the second most commercial holiday in the United States, for which Americans unbelievably spend approximately $6.3 billion annually, we must not forget one of Halloween’s iconic treats – Candy Corn. In fact, today, October 30th, is not just Halloween Eve, it is National Candy Corn Day. Yes folks, you read that right….Candy Corn has its own day. And, to support this obscure holiday, Gene and I went to the store today, specifically to buy the celebrated sweet.

I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with candy corn. I didn’t much like it as a kid, but now, as an adult, there is something comforting and familiar about munching on a candy corn kernel during this time of year.

Here’s comedian Lewis Black’s take on candy corn:

Candy corn is the only candy in the history of America that’s never been advertised. And there’s a reason. All of the candy corn that was ever made was made in 1911. And so, since nobody eats that stuff, every year there’s a ton of it left over. And the candy corn company sends the guys to the villages and they collect out of the dumpsters all the candy corn we’ve thrown away. They wash it! They wash it! I’ll never forget the first time my mother gave me candy corn. She said, “Here Lewis! This is corn that tastes like candy!” (eats it) “This tastes like crap”’ And every year since then, Halloween is returned and I, like an Alzheimer’s patient, find myself in a room, and the room has a table in it, and on the table, is a bowl of candy corn. And I look at it, as if I’ve never seen it before. “Candy corn,” I think. “Corn that tastes like candy. I can’t wait.”

Could it could be that Lewis Black needs to join the Candy Corn Lovers Anonymous Facebook page?

While candy corn is yellow, white and orange, I prefer “indian corn”, where the bottom layer is brown (chocolate flavored).


Candy Corn was invented by George Renninger and produced by the Wunderlee Candy Company in the 1880s. In 1900, the Goelitz Candy Company, now known as Jelly Belly Candy Company, started mass producing candy corn, and its recipe has remained unchanged.

The National Confectioners Association estimates that 20 million pounds (9,000 tons) of candy corn are sold annually. The top branded retailer of candy corn, Brach's, sells enough candy corn each year to circle the earth 4.25 times if the kernels were laid end to end.

While that might sound impressive, did you know that candy corn has even gone into space? Astronauts are allowed to bring special “crew preference” items when they go up in space. NASA astronaut Don Pettit chose candy corn for his five and a half month stint aboard the International Space Station. But these candy corn were more than a snack, Pettit used them for experimentation. Check out the “critical candy corn concentration” in this cool video:



I feel quite good, in fact, almost patriotic, about doing my part to uphold this little known holiday, and hope that you, too, will remember Halloween Eve from henceforth as National Candy Corn Day!

Have a Corny Kind o' Day, Y'all!

World Series Weirdness

Here I am watching the first game of the World Series being played in AT&T Park in San Francisco. This is the first time the Texas Rangers have ever won a title, making it to the World Series. They are up against the San Francisco Giants, who last won a World Series pennant 56 years ago. The 2010 World Series should prove to be a very interesting contest indeed.

However, since the 4th inning, it seems like every other word out of my mouth has been, “Caaa-raaaap!” With the Rangers trailing the Giants 8-2, I decided instead of focusing on winning the game, I would focus on other aspects. The first thing I noticed was how adorable the 26-year old Giants’ starting pitcher, Tim Lincecum, was. Why, he’s cute enough to keep, don’t you think?


Hot diggity! Here in the top of the 6th, the Rangers have gotten two more hits, and Lincecum has been relieved. The score is now 8-4. Thought I wasn’t paying attention, eh?

The other item of interest is the neckwear worn by players of both teams. What in the world are these bizarre, ugly-looking, twisted necklaces? I’m probably one of the last people on the planet to notice them. But, in case you, too, are a very periodic baseball watcher like me, they are called Phiten necklaces. Developed in Japan, the nylon-coated titanium necklaces are intended to promote pain relief and enhance performance through improved circulation and stress reduction. For an idea of what they look like, see Elvis Andrus and his teammates below.


Bottom of the 8th inning and now the score is 11-4, Giants. ”Caaa-raaaap!”

Where was I? Oh yes…Serious, heavy duty beards seem to be one of the new Giants fashion fads. First, there was relief pitcher, Sergio Romo’s beard.


And then in the 9th inning, we got to see the infamous Brian Wilson’s beard, which looks unnaturally dark. Brian has gained quite a following with his beard.


Even the Giants fans seem to be getting into the beard fashion, wearing fake beards and promoting the slogan, “Fear the Beard”.


As I return my attention to the game, the Rangers knock in three runs during the 9th inning, but at the conclusion of this first World Series game, the Texas Rangers were no match for the San Francisco Giants on their home turf.

The final score: Giants – 11, Rangers - 7

Caaa-raaaap Y’all!

God's Glorious Angels

When I was a young woman, I had no need for other women in my life. I thought men had what I wanted, so I spent nearly all my leisure time with men. I did a spectacular job at understanding what men want in a woman, becoming a chameleon and changing myself to please the man I was with in order to obtain his love. It was my quest in life.

While I did indeed acquire a number of husbands (not all at the same time mind you – that’s an LDS joke by the way, and since I’m LDS, I can say that), I later discovered that men really did not have what I wanted. Men taught me what they wanted in a woman, but they never taught me how to be a woman. They couldn't. Only other women have helped me navigate through the University of Womanhood.


These wonderful women taught me that being a beautiful woman is an inside job, not an outside makeover. It does not matter what I wear, how I speak or how others accept me in society. What matters to me about being a woman is that I know who I am – I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father, a woman of eternal value. It matters to me that I know how important my words are as a woman. I can lift up another through kind, inspired words, or I can lash out, shout profanity and belittle those around me. It is my choice. And, I choose to exercise kindness and integrity with my words, rather than dirty my own mouth and harm the ears of others with sharp barbs, profane language and ridicule. It matters to me how I treat others - I try to treat them as I would want to be treated. Hopefully, I treat those around me as my brothers and sisters, with love and tolerance. It is an exercise I must continually work at. As a woman, I have an enormous impact upon all those who enter my sphere of influence. I must acknowledge that impact and be responsible for my words and actions. A beautiful woman is one who isn’t afraid to let her light shine on all those around her!


Recently, I had a small group of women friends over to my house. I’d felt inspired to reach out to each woman individually over the years, and then most recently, to introduce them to each other. The dynamics were delightful. We talked and laughed, empathized and ate, joked and consoled for nearly five hours that night. Several of us had experienced difficulties that day, and it was such a relief to share those thoughts and feelings within the presence of these safe and wonderful women.


From the fabulous film, “Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood”:

Teensy: We'll leave you alone.
Caro: But we'll be listening from the kitchen, so talk loud.


Along my path I was taught that “a man will want to pinch my butt, but a woman will be there to save it”. I was taught to seek after women who “have what I want” and “do what they do”. How grateful I feel today that I followed the advice of the sage woman who shared that adage with me years ago. As a result, I found women who had what I wanted – sober women, women with loving families, women who had Jesus Christ as the center of their families, intelligent women, who were willing to impart of their wisdom to teach me, both spiritually and temporally, the knowledge I needed to learn. And, I remain teachable.


By being open-minded to the things God would have me know about myself and what He wants me to become, I am able to be that woman of eternal value, who can look behind me and stretch out my hand to other women, who want what I have. I am grateful to have something to give back, to help others. My failures and personal tragedies are now the tools I can use with other women as I share the joy of walking through difficult times with God at my side, and the angels He has sent to help me, the women I call my friends.


My Cup Runneth Over With Angels, Y'all!

Deliciously Argentine!

Scrumptious, tender, melt-in-your-mouth beef tenderloin with spicy chimichurri sauce, melted cheese and diced fresh tomatoes on a warm, crusty French baguette…”Where?!” you ask…Buenos Aires Café, our newest culinary discovery in East Austin.


The Buenos Aires Café was a delightful surprise, located at the corner of 6th Street and Waller, just a few blocks away from us. We stopped by last Saturday afternoon, and were immediately impressed with the modern, but comfortable décor.


Our waiter was quite friendly, and he confirmed our choice of The Lomito Beef Sandwich (voted “The Best Sandwich in Town”—The Onion) with a Spinach Salad, as well as a cup of the Soup of the Day, Asparagus Spinach Soup, and a real Caesar Salad.


Apparently we’re not the only ones who think this restaurant is tops…

"Austin Fueled by popular demand, Buenos Aires Café—Austin’s first Argentine eatery—has opened a second location, on the city’s east side. Spacious and inviting (have original hardwood floors ever looked so good?), the haunt serves up popular Argentine fare, including authentic Buenos Aires empanadas. The flaky pastries come with various fillings, including a don’t-miss carne picante, with scallions, raisins, and green olives, and a vegetarian’s dream packed with spinach, ricotta, and Parmesan. Entrées can be spotty; steer clear of the bland gnocchi and head straight for the pastel de papas, Argentina’s answer to Britain’s shepherd’s pie. Finish with a scrumptious dessert—cuatro leches cake, panqueques (dessert crepes), or flan de Buenos Aires. These are the real stars of the South American show." New and Note Worthy - Texas Monthly - 05/10/09

"The new Buenos Aires has arrived, to be sure. This avocado-green bunker on East Sixth Street shares tight company with the Good Knight and the East Side Showroom, but the original Buenos Aires Café on South First Street predates all of them, courtesy of founder Reina Morris, a native of Argentina.
Buenos Aires Café is a culinary microcosm of the Italian and Spanish immigrants who have called Argentina home, with input from the British and French as well, informing even the croissant-style flaky crusts of the carne picante (ground beef, olives and raisins) and verdura (spinach and ricotta and Parmesan cheeses) empanadas, the pair easily making a full breakfast at $2.59 each." Packed with Power - Austin American Statesman - 09/09/09

We can’t wait to go back! And, we’re told that in the evenings, an occasional couple will dance the Argentine Tango.

“Latins are tenderly enthusiastic. In Brazil they throw flowers at you. In Argentina they throw themselves.” --Marlene Dietrich


Throw Yourself into Buenos Aires Café, Y’all!!

Eye Can't See You

Today I went to Bella Vision on South Congress Avenue for an eye exam with a new optometrist, Dr. Li. It’s been about three years since I’ve had my eyes checked, and my glasses are pretty much on their last leg. It doesn’t help that I treat them like bad stepchildren, swinging them around by the earpiece, throwing them in the same pocket of my purse as my nail file, and sitting on them.

Dr. Li was a very personable Asian woman, who I liked instantly. Her four children and the assistant’s child were all there in the office, although you wouldn’t know it; They entertained themselves so well. The office was very nice, and the only thing bothering me was the heat. The examination room wasn’t as cool as I might have liked, either, and as I’ve noted before, my internal thermometer is way off.

As Dr. Li began my exam, I was surprised to discover that my old glasses were still providing me with 20/20 vision. We talked about using a different type of bifocal – one just for computer work and reading.


Pulling the phoroptor, or refractor, close to my face, Dr. Li began flipping lenses back and forth as I stared ahead at the eye chart. “Is it better with #1 or #2?...#3 or #4?” If you’ve ever had an eye exam, you know the drill. After awhile, I realized everything I was seeing was fuzzy. “Is it better with #6 or #7?”, Dr Li asked. “I really can’t tell a difference”, I replied, “they both look cloudy to me.”

I was fixin’ to get worried, envisioning some quick-creeping cataracts, when suddenly an idea popped into my mind. “I think the lens is fogged up.”, I said. Dr. Li seemed surprised, but wiped the lens with a special cloth. “Perfect!” I exclaimed. A few minutes later, the same problem happened again.

While dabbing away at the perspiration on my forehead, I explained to Dr. Li that I was going through some “changes” and my internal thermostat wasn’t working quite right. I told her that although my face was cool to the touch, I was burning up and sweating profusely all over my face and forehead. I admitted embarrassingly, that I must be the one creating the fog on the lenses.

I was so grateful to return to my car and crank up the air conditioner to high when my appointment was over. This has become the constant concern in my life….being cool enough. Come to think of it, I had that same concern when I was a teenager! And, just like then, I never do feel cool enough.

“What fun is it being cool if you can’t wear a sombrero?” –Calvin & Hobbes


“Don’t think of it as getting hot flashes, think of it as your inner child playing with matches.” –Unknown

I think my inner child’s favorite toy is a Barbie I can relate to:

Hot Flash Barbie
Press Barbie's bellybutton and watch her face turn beet red while tiny drops of perspiration appear on her forehead. Comes with hand-held fan and tiny tissues.

Keep Your Cool, Y'all!

A Brilliant Time of Life

“Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.” -- Thomas A. Edison

If perspiration is what makes up 99% of genius, then I am downright, off-the-charts brilliant! Even though this has been a relatively mild Texas summer, you wouldn’t know it by looking at me. I have evolved over this past year into a seriously sweaty drip!


I’ve always been a perspiring sort, with beads of sweat accumulating on my upper lip, but after hitting the age of 50, it feels like I’ve found my Inner Faucet instead of my Inner Child. And, the faucet must be broken, too, because I can’t seem to turn it off.

Here I sit in my room with the temperature at 70 degrees and a box fan blowing full blast on me, and, I still have to swipe at my forehead, chin or upper lip every few minutes. What seems clear to me is that this heavy duty waterworks has nothing to do with summer. I appear to have slipped into the Menopause Zone.

Although I technically do not fully qualify as menopausal, I do have the majority of menopausal symptoms. And, most notable are the hot flashes.

Now, for all I know, I may not have had a true hot flash yet. After all, I thought I was in heavy labor when I was pregnant with my son. Yet, the doctors sent me home from the hospital three times, telling me not to come back until I couldn’t hardly walk. But, didn’t they understand? It hurt!! When the heavy labor finally did settle upon me, I suddenly understood that the pain before then had been a cake walk.


Nevertheless, my internal thermometer is definitely off. My thoughtful, patient husband bought me a small, battery-operated, personal fan to help. Although the little buzzing noise tends to draw attention, it’s worth it for some cooling relief. When not actively pointed at my face, the little fan serves to entertain fussy children. A genius must have thought of this little device!

I’m just hoping this brilliant time of life passes for me without any casualties to me or anyone else in my sweaty wake.

Stay Cool, Y’all!!

Back at the Ranch

Last year on the 4th of July, our neighborhood lit up like a Chinese firecracker. Living in East Austin, whether we’re being re-gentrified or not, one has to wonder whether the snap, crackle and pops are truly fireworks or someone’s .357 magnum going off. To ensure a better night’s sleep, Gene and I headed to the Double M Ranch to celebrate a quiet Independence Day.

The Double M Ranch belongs to my parents, Max and Glenda, who are vacationing in Idaho. It’s a lovely 300+ acre spread in Central Texas, near Fort Hood, the largest Army base in the world. And, this year, the weather was cooler than normal for July. That is to say, it was in the mid-80s the day we arrived.

With an unusual amount of rain during the latter part of June, the pastures and grass were bright green. Near the Low Water Crossing, families were wading and fishing in the Cow House Creek. The canopy of large oak and pecan trees shaded the road like a tunnel, inviting us to the Promised Land.

I noticed the neighbors at the turnoff in the house that used to be an old mill had lots of family or friends visiting. So did the neighbors at the Low Water Crossing. Everyone was gathered together to celebrate Independence Day, the day that symbolizes Freedom for our country.

After unpacking and resting for bit, Gene and I headed into town for dinner. I drove us by the house where my grandparents had lived while they were alive. I hadn’t been to the house in quite awhile and was amazed at how small it was.

The neighborhood was all built up, and it was hard to tell just where the dirt road circle used to be. That’s the road I took when I ran away at the ripe old age of five.

All the relatives were at Grandmother and Grandad’s house that evening. I’d probably been scolded for something I did. So, I packed a can of candy in a suitcase and announced with conviction to my sister, Cameron, and my cousin, Kimberly, that I was running away.


Cameron and Kimberly begged me not to leave. They followed behind me on the circle, and when I’d gone about 100 feet, I opened my suitcase and sat down in it. Kimberly and Cameron ran crying back to the house, telling my grandfather what I was doing. Grandad, with his twinkling blue eyes, followed the girls to my location, which was easily seen from the house.

Grandad said sweetly, “Grayson, I hear you’re running away.” Sitting inside my opened suitcase, I defiantly crossed my arms in front of my chest, set my chin and turned my head to the side, replying, “Yes, I am!” He rubbed his chin for moment and then said, “Well, if you’re gonna run away, you oughta do it on a full stomach. Your grandmother just fried up some chicken. Why don’t you come eat some dinner before you leave?” The logic was undeniable, so I got up, repacked my suitcase, and my grandfather carried it back to the house, as we all returned for some homemade fried chicken and I forgot all about my getaway.

After that precious memory flashed by, Gene and I drove over to the local dive on Main Street for a fried catfish dinner.


We talked with Barbara, the waitress who would certainly give Flo, from the old TV series “Alice”, a run for her money. Barbara knows my parents by name and once she remembered meeting me several times before, we chatted all about my folks and the neighbors before heading back to the ranch to rest and relax.


On Sunday, Gene noticed a baby mockingbird sitting in the grass. After having a little bird die in my hands recently, you might think I would’ve steered clear of this little feathered fellow, but I couldn’t. The little guy wasn’t injured, he simply wasn’t experienced enough to stay in the air. I knew that if we left him in the grass, he’d end up as some critter’s foie gras. So, I nestled the tiny bird in one of my mother’s Williams-Sonoma dish towels, which are nice and soft (don’t worry, Mom, I washed it), and put him on top of the barbeque grill on the back porch. We could see that the nest was near the roof, but we couldn’t reach it. Gene and I hoped for the best. The next morning, our little friend was gone. Hopefully, he spread his wings and flew away. I don't even want to think about the alternative.

Freedom For All, Y'all!