Life List #93: Take Chris to the Blue Bell Ice Cream factory

For my 32nd birthday, and my last one pre-motherhood, I chose to return to childhood for an afternoon (and fulfill #93 on my Life List): tour the Blue Bell Creamery with Chris.

My parents took me and my sister when we were kids, and it was a huge thrill for a little kid. You got to see how they make the ice cream, yes, but the best part was that you got a *free ice cream sample* at the end! Meaning: your parents couldn't say no because it was free.

Growing up, Blue Bell was the only ice cream we ever ate. We knew it was a special occasion if a gold-rimmed half-gallon was in our freezer. At birthday parties, each kid would get their own tiny yellow container that we didn't have to share. I'd scrape out the creamy cold treat with the accompanying flat wooden stick and smear it onto my tongue with glee.

Y'all, it really is the best ice cream in the country, like they've branded it. I've tried a lot of other ice creams. None of them taste this good. It's creamy but not too rich, sweet but not cloying, and their different flavors are incredible. Putting anything other than Homemade Vanilla on a warm piece of pie is just insulting, though sometimes a necessity, if you're not in Blue Bell territory.

Created in Brenham, Texas, Blue Bell is the third highest-selling ice cream in the country, despite the fact that it's only sold in 18 states. I remember hearing as a kid that they'd only sell their ice cream in a place if their delivery drivers could travel to and from the location in a workday, so they could be home with their families by night. (I don't know if that's still true.)

Needless to say, New York is not in their distribution zone. When Chris and I lived in Brooklyn, we missed Blue Bell so much that we'd literally dream at night about walking into our local Pathmark's frozen aisle and seeing a freezer full of Blue Bell Ice Cream.



We flipped out with excitement when we learned that Outback Steakhouse has a worldwide, exclusive contract with Blue Bell -- so no matter where you are in the world, if you're near an Outback Steakhouse, you can fill your craving for Homemade Vanilla.

One of my ingenious friends somehow finagled an entire industrial-sized container of Blue Bell from the restaurant for my bachelorette party.



It was a superb surprise.



You'd think I was upset from the looks of it, but no, I was just so thrilled that my face was out of my control.


Since we moved back to Texas, I've wanted to take Chris on the tour, since he missed it as a kid. For my birthday, we finally made it, with our friend, Gareth (who was born in the northeast but got to Texas as soon as she could. Har har har. I couldn't resist evoking the bumper sticker).



The tour was as much fun as I remembered. I love getting behind-the-scenes looks at places where things are made, especially when they're delicious things. I learned that not only does Blue Bell have a quaint "down home country" vibe, they also put their money where their cows are. The cream used during each day's production run is always less than 24 hours old, and the cream, milk, and eggs all come from local farms within a 200 mile radius of the creamery. All of the cookies, cakes, etc. in their ice creams are made in-house. (The "cookie" in Cookies and Cream isn't an Oreo -- it's a homemade cookie! Also, they were the first to create this now-classic flavor.)

The only thing I'd like to see them do is phase out high fructose corn syrup and corn syrup from their recipes. The dietary tide seems like it will turn fully away from these substances, since they're continually being proven to be so unhealthy. I trust that Blue Bell, a creamery known for its high quality, will (hopefully sooner than later) reinvent their recipe to omit these ingredients.

Near the end of the tour, the guide mentioned 55 flavors of Blue Bell Ice Cream in total, and Gareth got a devilish look in her eyes.

"If we tried one flavor a week, we could try them all in about a year," she said. "We could just buy the pint, or get a group of friends to finish off the half gallon."

Look. I'm pregnant and I love ice cream. You don't have to tell me twice. I'm in.

We kicked off our sampling by trying five new flavors after the tour. Our first flavors were Krazy Kookie Dough (Colorful chunks of sugar cookie dough in a cake batter ice cream) and Caramel Kettle Crunch (that's right; crunchy caramel-coated popcorn in vanilla ice cream):



Then we went back for three more flavors:


Mocha Madness, Strawberry Cheesecake, and Strawberry.



That is one happy, happy man.

A fantastic way to polish off #93!

What a Summer

We're in the middle of enormous transitions here at the Gandin Le house.

We lost Mister in July. In August, our little canary, Merrell, died suddenly after a routine vet visit.



His death was as unexpected and quick as was his entry into our lives, almost six years ago. Gone, just like that. I had no idea I could love something so small so much.

Underlying everything (and explaining my absence from the blog), was the news we learned in June:



Yes, it's true -- we're having our first baby. After looking at the parenthood ride for a few years now, we decided to get on it. I'm grateful for all the women and men who have shown me that it is utterly possible and pleasurable to be a parent and live your creative dreams.

Also, they are not kidding about that first trimester exhaustion thing! Now that we're past that milestone and our news is public, I hope to be around here much more. Thanks for hanging in here with me.

In the meantime, here's a slideshow of our spontaneous late-August trip to Marfa. Our bird died in the middle of our week off, so the next day, we packed up and left for a few days in Marfa, a small town in West Texas. It was just what we needed to heal, release, savor the time we had with our sweet pets, and enjoy time together, just the two of us.

Rest Well, Mister the Dog

Our beloved best friend, Mister the Dog, died peacefully on Tuesday, his head on Chris's knee, in the care of our kind-eyed vet. Mister was 16 1/2.

His health had declined so much that we finally knew we were avoiding the hard decision for ourselves, rather than for his quality of life. I'm very grateful to the warm folks at Austin Vet Hospital, especially Dr. Palvino, for sitting with us as we struggled with our decision, and gently let us know that it was okay to give Mister this gentle exit from a body that had lived long, deep, and well.

Still, I hear his paws on the wood floor occasionally, and every time I get up from my desk, I start to go down that hallway to check on him. Riding the waves of grief.

I've been deeply moved by the response from our friends and community. Mister touched so many lives, including avowed anti-dog people who found themselves strangely compelled by Mister's independent, dainty, polite ways. I've even heard from a few friends who said that their interaction with Mister inspired them to become pet-owners themselves. How did one orange, fuzzy creature find his way into so many hearts across the country?

Even though he lived a long, rich life, even though we spent all day working at home with him for his last years, even though we knew it was coming -- it hurts.

We miss our friend so much.

Love Thursday: Introducing...the Crazy Box

I've invented something incredible. It might change my creative life. It is the physicalization of the brain dump, the morning pages, the swamp, Anne Lamott's radio station KFKD.

It is the CRAZY BOX.



This is where I put the thoughts that need disposal. The thoughts that keep me inactive. I gave it four different faces, because the demons show up with different attitudes and it helps me watch for them.



I believe in the power of words, of language, of writing your desires and mantras on paper. So at first, it felt weird to give my negative thoughts space on paper, making these torturous thoughts visible. Will it make these devils come true? Will this become my future?



Here's the great thing: the Crazy Box is like a nuclear containment device. Even better -- a magical nuclear neutralization box. Once you slip the paper in, the box strips its power immediately.

Here's how I'm using it:



You write the thought down that makes your shoulders slump, makes you feel "less than," makes you feel discouraged and like giving up. Yeah, that thought.



Or the secret blasts of megalomania that derail you from the actual work. I know I'm not the only one who has them.



Get them out. ALL OF THEM. The really specific ones, the ones about your best friend being smarter/prettier/more successful than you, the ones that know all your deepest shame and remind you of them often, the ones that short-circuit your enthusiasm into apathy.



Write it down, put it in the box, let it go.



Once a week (or day or hour, depending on how quickly your box fills up), I empty the box by the trap door on the bottom, and take it outside.



BURN IT. I happen to have a cauldron in my backyard for such purposes. Now, you might not be a earth-mama-hippie-writer-nerd-with-a-yard, so use whatever disposal method you prefer (I enjoy the purifying energy of fire).



It helps to have a few friends nearby as witnesses, to make sure everything gets released. I also wash my hands once I'm inside, to really really really get all that sticky energy off.

I warn you now -- as soon as I put this box into effect, I found myself grabbing for scraps of paper alarmingly often to write down mean thoughts in my head. That's okay. Tear up a ton of scrap paper and leave it close by. I think it's better to interrupt my workday five thousand times to expunge discouraging thoughts than to work straight through and let those thoughts sink into my groundwater. They are toxic and, eventually, they'll cause creative insanity.

How do you dislodge your crazy thoughts?

~ ~ ~

P.S. I work in public health, so when I say "Crazy," I don't mean actual mental health issues like depression, anxiety, or bipolar disorder. I mean the average, annoying, nagging thoughts that strip your energy and make you feel less than the divine creature in human form that you are.

P.P.S. Why is this a Love Thursday post? Because it's another way I've found to love and adore myself and my creative life.

Sister Goddesses Together

Six Austin women just graduated from the Mama Gena School of Womanly Arts Mastery Program, and on July 3rd, over 20 of their friends and loved ones gathered to celebrate their achievement and commitment to pleasure.

I've been part of the Sister Goddess community for over three years, but this was my first SG gathering with my digital camera, and with my new Sigma lens, perfect for portraits.



I had an absolute blast being the surprise and unofficial photographer for the evening! What photographer wouldn't want to be in the midst of such beautiful, happy, alive women?!



I'm pleased by how many photos came out well, especially considering that there was no way I was going to be able to capture the supernatural beauty of every single woman at the party.



I learned a lot about how shallow the depth of field is when the lens is open all the way (only a tiny spot of her shoulder is in focus here!):



And how to take close portraits without being too intrusive. (I still think I'm too shy to get the really golden shot sometimes. More to learn!)



This is my favorite thing about being in a group of Sister Goddesses (whether or not they've been through Mastery) -- there is a bright energy, a sense of mischief and play, that can loft you up high for days afterward. In this kind of room is one of my favorite places to experience a powerful sense of the Divine.



Congratulations, graduates! May all your desires come true, and even better!