Off The Net For Awhile -- Biking -- Maybe Later This Afternoon

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A Note to the Granddaughters

When I was growing up, every summer, or every other summer, my mother alone or my father and mother together would take us (four children, until a fifth came along) to her parents' home in Storm Lake, Iowa. That was a long trip, and an expensive trip for my dad. It was always a sore point for my mom that she couldn't visit her parents more than once a year. Now that I am a grandparent, I understand so much more what it means to "show off" one's wonderful children. If there is any sadness in my heart with regard to growing up, that might be the "only thing": my mom not getting to visit her folks more often and my mom not getting to show off her wonderful children (at least in her mind) to her folks. My mom was the best and she deserved the opportunity to do that; but circumstances were such....

I say all that to say that I have wonderful memories of visiting both sets of grandparents, the paternal ones in rural Newell, South Dakota; and the maternal ones in small-town Storm Lake, Iowa. I have so many great memories. Perhaps that is why I do not take our own grandchildren for granted. Some readers probably think I am insanely obsessed with the Bakken; my obsession with my grandchildren exceeds the Bakken obsession greatly.

My maternal grandfather was a stern, stoic, German. Outwardly, it appeared his worse nightmare came to life when he was visited by four rug-rats from Williston, North Dakota. He was extremely germanically frugal. His only vice was those little orange-slice-granulated-sugar-coated candies. I remember the one (and only) time I tried to take one of those candies without asking. (It didn't do much good to ask; the answer was always the same: "no" in English, not German, so there was no chance of a misunderstanding).

[It is best that my daughter, if she has read this far, not to read any farther.]

I suppose that explains my attitude with the granddaughters.

I have one vice (to which I will admit). I keep Kit Kat candy bars in the refrigerator. I enjoy them on certain occasions.

Two days ago, the granddaughters independently and almost simultaneously discovered the Kit Kats. It was so nice when very quietly, and very tentatively the younger one asked if she could have one. I think she was surprised that I was so happy that she would even ask. Yes, she could have one. Some minutes later, the older one came over, and even more quietly, and perhaps even more tentatively, asked if she, too, could have a Kit Kat. And again, I suppose she was surprised that I reacted in a way to suggest that I was very happy she asked.

Later on, driving the older one to swimming, I told her that she could always have a Kit Kat, but probably best, just one per day (they are the small size bars). I also told her, that although I would always say "yes," it was probably best if she asked me first, if only for the sake of appearances.

I knew there was no point in suggesting the same to the younger granddaughter. She is quite sensible, for lack of a better word, and asking would only delay the inevitable outcome, getting her Kit Kat.

I thought of all that because of a note my wife just sent me. There is a story in Yahoo!News today, apparently, suggesting that "the Kit Kat is the most influential candy bar of all." Whatever that means.

Ah, here the story is, about Kit Kat. Another phenomenal story. It's easy to find, all over the net now.

The most influential candy bar of all time isn’t a Hershey bar, a Snickers, or a Baby Ruth. According to Time magazine, it’s the Kit Kat, which may have you scratching your head. Sure, a Kit Kat is a delight, chocolatey and crunchy and shareable with friends (on the rare occasions you’re feeling generous). But what sets it apart from its also-very-tasty competition?

The Kit Kat, it turns out, was made for sharing. How wonderful.