Losing weight is like making caramel.
You heard me.
Every Christmas, I go through my traditional endeavors to make hundreds of cookies, candies and sweetbreads. Wreath cookies, molasses crinkles, gingerbread men, peanut blossoms, lemon drops, peppermint patties, buckeyes, peanut butter fudge, mints, poppy seed bread, and turtles.
I usually save the turtles for last because they. take. forever.
If you've had any experience with candy-making, you know that if the recommended temperature for your candy isn't spot on, you're going to either have soup or a brick. Bricks are great for peanut brittle, not so much for turtles. In case anyone is wondering, bricks chip teeth. Just fyi.
So, in an effort to avoid masonry, I stand in front of the stove with my candy thermometer bent at an odd angle so as to sit at the perfect depth in the liquid - not touching the bottom, but not pulling in the "cooler" air from the surface. And I stir.
I look at my watch.
And stir some more.
The temperature actually rises pretty rapidly for the first bit, and then when it's about five degrees short of the mark, it stops. My kids grow up, move away, and finish college, and then the temperature inches up to ONE DEGREE short of perfection. I crank out fourteen more books, publish them, retire and enter the geriatric ward by the time that caramel
Granted, if I hadn't eaten a lot of those turtles this past Christmas, I probably wouldn't be in this stage of eight-pounds-to-go-before-I-hit-my-target-weight. That's beside the point.
The real question is:
Why in the world would I choose to retire after only fifteen books?