Gummy Candy

My very favorite kind of candy, after Snickers, which always goes without saying, is gummy candy.  I can't get enough.  If someone put a pound of gummy worms in front of me, I would consume the entire quantity before they could say, "Save me some red ones."  I really don't know what it is.  The fruitiness?  Possibly.  The chewy, slightly challenging texture?  Possibly.  The way they smell like fruits of the forest covered in dew and sunshine and rainbows and butterflies?  I'm pretty sure that's it.  

The summer of 1999 was probably the greatest summer of my life.  I was 20, and I was on my third Royal Servant missions trip.  This particular summer, I was a "senior woman," which means I was part of the leadership of the leadership of the students.  My duty was to feed my team of 90 people three square meals a day.  Now, my team spent 6 weeks hopping from campground to campground all over Europe.  Royal Servants sends out many teams all over the world, and before any team goes out for their adventures in awesomeness, they go through training camp in Southern Illinois.  Well, more Central Illinois, but I'm from Northern Illinois, and anything south of Chicago is Southern Illinois.  Really, it's practically a different state, much like Western Washington is almost entirely separate from Eastern Washington. I digress.  

At this training camp, somewhere significantly south of Chicago, I met a really cute boy.  2 years later, I moved to Washington to be near him, and 3 years later, I married him.  So, really, how could the summer of 1999 not be my favorite summer?  As if meeting Peter wasn't enough, there was one more wonderful thing that happened that summer.  

While bonding with my many students and staff on this crazy missions trip, I happened to mention that I loved gummy candy with a passion usually reserved for lovers.  My fabulous teammates took this revelation to heart, and whenever we visited cities or stopped at rest stops or put up tents in a new campground, at least 4 or 5 people made it a point to bring me a gummy treat.  It truly was as happy as I have ever been minus my wedding day and each of my kids' birthday.  International gummy candy as far as the eye can see.  

My favorite offering had to be what one sweet little 13-year-old soul brought me in Paris.  She had wandered into God only knows what kind of confiserie and managed to procure me what she thought were banana-flavored gummies in the shape of bananas.  Bless her little heart, but if those things weren't delicious little phalluses.  I never told.  Anyone.  I just ate them quickly.  A respectable lady probably would have discretely tossed them, but I am anything but respectable or lady-like when candy is on the table.  

I shall end this post with a poem, which I tend to hate but sometimes enjoy composing:

Summer of Gummies
Always in my sticky heart
Chewy ecstasy