The fudge

I used to make fudge every year for Christmas. It started about 15 years ago when I needed to bring something to the office Christmas party. I discovered I had a talent for it. I would do it the old-fashioned way with sugar and not marshmallow creme.

Over the years, though trial and error, I added my own twists. I did a slow boil rather than a quick one to get the texture smoother. I experimented with how much vanilla to put in. I settled on pecans instead of walnuts. I got really good at making fudge.

Eventually, even though I took it into the office, I was doing it for myself because a) I was good at it; b) I got compliments and c) when I got it wrong I got to eat the mistakes.

Then Deb came along, and I started making the fudge for her. She looked forward to it, knowing not only she'd get to take it into her office and get the compliments, but knowing she'd share in the mistake batches and even scrape the bowl for every little bit of chocolaty goodness.

Then she was gone. I tried to make fudge that first year, but it wasn't right. I followed the recipe, tried all my tricks, but it just wasn't right.

I haven't made any since.

This year I made ginger snaps. I took them into the office, and when one co-worker saw I was handing out treats, he said, "All right, Chong made fudge!"

I had to tell him I hadn't. I hadn't made an announcement or anything that I wasn't making them because Deb was gone. I just sort of presumed people would figure it out on their own.

Then he started going on about the fudge. About how it was better than another co-worker's specialty. How he missed it.

And I'm thinking maybe it's time to make the fudge again.

It may be time to give it another try. It may not be the same as it was before. It may never be better than that. But it's probably time to see whether I still have the knack.

By the way, I'm not going for any metaphors here. I'm not trying to substitute "making fudge" for "going on a date" or "finding true love." I waited 35 years for the right one, and I'm prepared to wait another 35 for someone remotely comparable to her.

It's just ... maybe it's time.

The 2nd best birthday present

The best present, of course, was meeting Deb.

The second best was a Red Ryder BB gun. I was 25 at the time. Mom finally figured I was ready to handle the responsibility.

True story.