Sweetness!

I'd hit a milestone as a kid when I realized that holidays existed. It was marvelous. I would repeat the festive names to myself and tick them off on my fingers: Valentine's, Easter, Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Candy - how much of it, and the type - topped the criteria for which one was the best.

On Christmas afternoon, we'd inhale our annual box of Whitman's. Little, squared-off, milk-chocolate-covered caramels and domed coconut balls were my favorites. Over time, certain candies became holiday fixtures. Somehow, ribbon candy always seemed to nudge its way into the house, most likely a gift from neighbors. Pretty, yes, but those hardened, stripy, fragile folds of shimmery sugar failed to win me over. Despite their flash and dazzle, they broke up too easily. Worse, they had sharp edges that hurt to eat. I always steered clear of the gross, purply-red, liquid-filled hard candies that fused together in my grandmother's cut-glass candy dishes. In my world, candy canes and popcorn balls reigned supreme. Sticky fingers confirmed my candy obsession.

Treat-wise, New Year's Day was a candy-less wasteland. That set the holiday apart so much that it never even made my list. Not too far behind, Valentine's saved the day with its gold-foiled chocolate hearts and sugary conversation ones. As a lifelong lover of love, I felt protective of Valentine's Day's status as a really great holiday. Come spring, jelly beans, marshmallow chicks, and chocolate rabbits pushed Valentine's aside and nudged Easter toward the top of the list.

Trumpets sounded in October. Since multi-family apartment houses dominated our street, as a kid, nolo contendere, Halloween Day always won first place. These were the days before snack-size candy bars, so a high point of the year was dumping our groaning pillow cases onto the floor. Ecstatic, my siblings and I would separate out the full-size Milky Ways, Hershey Bars, Sugar Daddies, and the big old Charms lollipops that floated in the sea of Turkish Taffy, Double Bubbles, Bit O'Honeys, and candy corn. It was only when Fluoride spiked the waters that anyone correlated our frequent trips to the dentist with the huge mixing bowls of candy my siblings and I consumed daily after school, well into November.

Last night, in the wake of this year’s Christmas, we hosted a dinner party. Altogether - three generations and three dogs - there were 17 of us. Our guests brought fresh oysters, cookies, and brownies to add to our menu, which included a cheese board, lobster salad, green beans, and ice cream sundaes. The food was great, but the noise level was even better. Listening to my loved ones engaged in animated conversation with one another is to be privy to a particular genre of music - one I like to think of as a symphony of love. Throughout the room, tutti, reports of schooling, and travel sounded. Job updates, blended in with jokes, recipes, and movie critiques. The sound of dogs scuffling happily underfoot contrasted with voiced expressions of hope for one another and the new year. It was a lot of happy noise.

The food really was good, and there was plenty of dessert, but it's funny, no one ate a bite of candy. Clearly, my criteria for a good holiday celebration these days have shifted to a different kind of sweetness.