Kiss the Sweets Goodbye and Point Me Toward Tomorrow*

Note the side part with glamorous, prized Goody barrette in my

fourth (third?) grade Saint Mary's School photo, circa 1971. 

Coaxed by my mother, I set my hair on pink sponge rollers the night before. 

The light blue, sparkly barrette matched the shiny silk dress 

(now faded in the photo), 

a hand-me-down from relatives in Connecticut.

Okay, enough. I've spent my life spinning fairy tales about sugar, and believing them. Sweets were special. They were magic. Enchanting. Not just euphoric, they added notes of beauty and style to a plain life, like that sparkly blue Goody barrette. It was from the grocery store, but it was a big deal to me. (As a mother, I took great pleasure on lunch breaks from Hearst browsing hair accessories for me or Figgy on Bergdorf Goodman's Beauty Level--I got her a slender black satin hairband with rhinestone bow. I would have done the same for Punch, but she is not a hair accessory type of girl.)

Spun-sugar stars in my youth included the Entenmann's chocolate chip loaf cake my New York City-born grandmother, Alice, got us at the Grand Union supermarket in Dumont. A gift. A Sunday, church-day treat. And the  soft Torrone nougat candies in little boxes that our Italian immigrant grandmother, Rose, sometimes brought us from the Bronx.

They were part of a better life, a privileged life. They were that one Christmas Eve with a glass plate of homemade cookies at Aunt Gloria's and Uncle Jim's down the block in Dumont, where my three pretty cousins (Annie, Cathy and Maria) lived. The magic of my Sweet Sixteen, a pink box-mix cake and pink icing made by my mother and shared with my friends at our dining room table with Quaker lace tablecloth. They were Stanley's Bake Shop in Bergenfield, special sheet cakes with yellow buttercream roses.  

I could go on and on and on. My fairy-tale cake walk. But that might fill a book.  

I.am.here.now. It is Sunday, October 26, 2025 at 3:24 p.m. and last night, at another lovely party held by our friends in Montclair, I consumed one sweet treat after another. Like Halloween tricks, they rose up and then vanished from my hands.

The clock ticked and I grew tired, having had a sad Friday night and a packed Saturday that began at 7:30 a.m. with cleaning (book group was coming), table setting, grocery shopping, coffee hour hosting, a meeting, flower getting, beauty salon, book group, phone interview for writing assignment, dishes and ending with the Halloween party. When I'm tired, I do reach for food to stay awake.

I think I have figured it out, at least for the moment. I love the hosts of these generous, spirited parties (themes include Super Bowl, summer garden, table games), the friends who attend, the chance to be out with Dan and sometimes even Punchy there. But so many love to bake (I do, too) and great bakeries also abound. So first there is excellent food, often catered (last night, mac and cheese and pulled pork; excellent charcuterie boards; farmer's market focaccia). Even a bar, sometimes with bartender. And live jazz music!!!!

Last night I had:

• A Magnolia Bakery chocolate Halloween cupcake, dense and moist, rich yellow frosting cap.
• A serving from a dream-girl size glass bowl of peanut butter cream/Reese's/cake trifle.
• A big, soft ginger cookie.
• An Italian bakery double-decker cookie with jam sandwiched in between, chocolate dip, rainbow sprinkles (you know the ones).
• A small wedge of hostess J's homemade, spoon-tender olive oil citrus cake.
• And at the book group lunch here, since it was our Jeannie's bday, two slices of the flourless chocolate cake Karen made, with freshly whipped cream.

Hello? Yes, it's me. 

Am I out to kill myself? I am a sugar addict, and I can't seem to eat sweets in moderation. Yet the zero-tolerance approach may be too punitive? On New Year's Eve 2025, I planned not to eat the party desserts but by the time the ball dropped, a piece of the Smitten Kitchen chocolate cake found its way onto a plate in my hands.

I think that going forward I will have to leave before the desserts come out. Physically remove myself, drive back home. Either that or get a big cup of coffee with cream and go in the pretty backyard? 

What do you think?

Now it's 9:17 p.m. Since 3:24, I took a walk with Dan (nice leaves), cut down the dead cone flowers, made sure Punch's friends headed back to their apartment in the Bronx, did a work email, ate dinner, loaded the dishes, played and failed at Wordle, started Spelling Bee.

My plan as of now is to again sidestep sweets, one day at a time. Look at the roads I have taken when allowing them in.

Figgy in 9th grade at Montclair High. See Bergdorf hair accessory.

Figgy's senior portrait. I also got that pretty "White Christmas" style hairband at BG.

I forgot! I put my pearl bracelet around Punchy's bun for her First Holy Communion. Her friend Nikki made the bun.

*Adapted from "What I Did for Love," a song from the musical A Chorus Line with music by Marvin Hamlisch and lyrics by Edward Kleban.