Random musings on my vagabond existence in the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania and wherever else life takes me.
The first step toward recovery is admitting you have a problem.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a problem when it comes to ice cream. The problem is this: Bring a half gallon of ice cream—preferably a good-quality black raspberry or vanilla, but really any flavor as long as it doesn’t have mint or peanut butter in it—and I can’t keep my hands off of it.
That carton of ice cream, buried in the freezer amongst the bags of frozen vegetables, calls to me like the Sirens of Titan, and short of tying my hands and feet to a post, there’s nothing that will keep me away from it.
I must have that ice cream. And I must have it before anyone else gets to it. Growing up as I did in a family of eight people, I learned early on that survival in a big family is a Darwinian struggle for finite resources. Anything that tastes good and is bad for you, like ice cream, will not last long, and he who hesitates will suffer the fate of the Dodo bird.
So, dig out that carton of Turkey Hill, grab a bowl and spoon, and to heck with the siblings. They would do the same to me if given the chance.
Let me add that when I have ice cream, I don’t just have a scoop or two. I load up the bowl and then usually I come back for more. Then when I see the carton is nearly gone, I figure there’s no sense in putting it back into the freezer with just a scoop left, and so I finish it off.
Yeah, I know—it’s terrible. It's bad for my body as well as my soul. Recognizing this, I've made multiple attempts over the years to tame my addiction. I can’t count the number of times when I’ve committed to giving up ice cream for Lent. But, alas, I’ve never managed to make it more than a week without dipping into the ice cream in the freezer.
Now in my defense, let me say that in most other areas of my life, I am a very disciplined person, especially when it comes to my health. I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life. I don’t drink other than an occasional beer or glass of wine. I made sure to eat a balanced diet. I work out regularly. Even now, when I am semi-retired, I continue to get up at five a.m. to go to the gym.
But when it comes to ice cream, something primal deep in my lizard brain kicks in and I lose any semblance of self-control. Let me give you an example.
There’s a family-run dairy farm by the name of Manning’s in Dalton, not far from my mountain house in the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania. Being an ice cream junkie, I’ve sampled a lot of great dairy products in my life, but Manning’s ice cream is hands down the best I’ve ever come across. There’s something about that fresh mountain air that makes Manning’s cows produce super creamy milk.
My favorite Manning’s ice cream flavors are black raspberry, vanilla bean, cookies & cream, and the seasonal rum raisin. Their yogurts are pretty awesome as well, as are their homemade ice cream pies and cakes (yum!). And compared to the dairy farms in southeastern Pennsylvania, Manning’s prices can’t be beat.
Over the past five years that I’ve owned the house, I have made it a habit of picking up not just one, but two half-gallon cartons of my favorite Manning’s ice cream on my drive up to the mountains. By the time I leave to go back home a few days later, one of those cartons will be gone and the other will be seriously picked away as well.
Like I said, it’s terrible.
Now, a bad habit like this will eventually catch up to you. I am now taking a daily statin to lower my cholesterol, and as I recently reported, my blood sugar is running high.
And so, as part of my crusade to overcome my ravenous sweet tooth, I have cut out the ice cream. Over the past two months, I’ve only had ice cream once, and that was a fried ice cream dessert that Rachael and I shared a couple weeks at our favorite Mexican restaurant.
The really amazing thing is, I really don’t miss the ice cream. Yeah, I think about Manning’s black raspberry every time I drive up to the house, but I don’t stop anymore. And yes, it’s hard when desserts are being shared at a party and I don’t partake.
But I’ve found that after a couple weeks of not partaking in ice cream and other sweets, the cravings start to melt away (no pun intended). And man, what a difference it makes. In my two months away from the sweets, I’ve lost five pounds and am feeling altogether lighter in body and in spirit.
Will I have ice cream again?
Sure, but sparingly. I want to get through this Lent without having any, and after that, I will commit to having a small bowl of ice cream no more than twice a month.
Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? This old dog wants to live a long life, even if that means giving up his favorite treat.
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