As if my childhood world wasn't fortified with enough sugar from cakes, cookies, doughnuts, pies and puddings, I still have one particular shining memory of sweetness.
Sugar bread.
Mother didn't allow it often. Wonder why.
But when this wondrous thing happened, one took a slice of Sunbeam bread, the one with another little blue-eyed, blond girl happily eating a slice of white bread slathered with a buttercup yellow spread, spread one's own thickly with soft butter and then - the coup de grace- carefully, over the sink to avoid a mess, sprinkled it thoroughly with white refined sugar. This delicacy was then gingerly transferred out on the porch and down on the steps before one bite could be taken.
My brother and I sat there, in heaven, munching down slowly into the buttery goodness, bite by bite, letting the melting sugar dance on our tongues.
The world may just have been recovering from a major ravaging war whose evil had shaken its foundation.
But for us it was just sunshine and sugar bread.
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