Pumpkin Guts

I got caught. When mentioning the pleasure, their shock and awe seemed to indicate, yet again, that I am not among those that most people would consider “normal.” This is something I embrace. Who wants to be normal? Doesn’t everyone enjoy something other than vanilla ice cream? Normal is boring. Flying a freak flag keeps people in wonder. But how odd was I? In a world of vanilla ice cream, am I rocky road weird or bubble gum ice cream weird?

Party hopping on Halloween

While my sister-in-law went into the Pengy Wiggly grocery store (not it’s real name, but it has potential) to pay, I remained out front with my brother and his two boys to pick out 4 pumpkins to carve for their Halloween party the following night. Halloween, Halloween parties, and holidays with the family are some of my favorites. I was so excited to be picking out pumpkins with the family. Much more so than my two young nephews. They showed little interest in anything Halloween. Oh, they had a great time dragging the family out for new costumes the previous night (along with half of Austin). The excitement died ten minutes later. A bit of fervor returned for a minute as we drove to the Pengy Wiggly on our pumpkin run. But only a minute. As soon they found a perfect pumpkin among the many in the pavement pumpkin patch the short attention span of a child kicked in.

Once back in the car, I expressed my anticipation to carve our perfect pumpkins. “Maybe we could save the seeds and roast them like Mom used to do.” That fell on deaf ears as the conversation had left pumpkins and changed to cereal. Or pop music. Honestly, I have no idea what they were talking about. When did Special K and Corn Pops combine to make K-Pop? What is a tent to see on? Little techa? Is BTS some sort of medical ailment?

Brook poses for a face possibility

While the family winced at the thought of cleaning out the insides, I admitted that this part of the Jack-O-Lantern process is a bit untidy. And that’s when I turned their stomachs with what I thought was an innocent admission. “It is messy,” I admitted, “but I sure love the smell.” You would have thought I had professed to loving the odor of rotting fish, from the reactions thrown my way. OK, Penguin. Maybe tone down the adoration for the olfactory properties of pumpkin guts.

Jason's master skills at work

 

 

 

 

 

 

Halloween night

The moment of awkwardness over, I watched like a child with a gleam in the eye as my brother and his wife carved faces into the pumpkins—throwing the seeds and sinewy orange innards straight into the trash. I guess there won’t be any seed roasting this time. Sorry, Mom.

The hunt for candles lasted far too long, but finally the Jacks were alight, the room darkened, and we stood in awe judging the efforts and smiling in the awesomeness of freshly disemboweled pumpkins: a sacrifice to the gods of my favorite holiday of the year. And for that whole minute, my nephews were interested in Halloween once more.

The lights came up abruptly, the candles extinguished and the kitchen returned to it’s prior glory—or as much glory as possible when hosting a family with 2 young kids, 3 cats, a dog and Uncle Penguin. With the family soon in other areas of the house, this was my chance. I was all alone. Without fear of judgment I pulled one of the Jack-o-lanterns forward, removed the lid, pressed my chin against the pumpkin skin, and inhaled.

Sweet Great Pumpkin, what a pleasure. Perhaps the most quintessential aroma of the holiday. Candy corn is too faint. Cinnamon-apple is overrated. Pumpkin spice may be more popular, but arguably, for someone who grew up in the 70s with an awesome mother embracing this holiday with the very childlike enthusiasm I inherited, there is something better. Carving the perfect gourd, gutting it with your bare hands, and smelling freshly slaughtered pumpkin is the pinnacle aroma of Halloween. 

The sweet aroma

Having been quite a few years since I last carved a pumpkin, this inhalation was severely delinquent. It was deep, long, and repeated several times. I was lost for a moment. Were it large enough, I could have jumped into that pumpkin for a sticky, stringy bath—for they failed to remove all of the gourd intestine. Where was that trash can full of seeds and guts?

Basically, the reactions I got

And that’s when it happened. I got caught. The entire family walked in on me. I was post inhale, holding the aroma until my lungs, starved for air, forced the nostalgic pumpkin-scented carbon dioxide out for life-giving oxygen. While their stomachs churned and a few unflattering words came forth, I owned it. However, being a gracious guest in their home, I gently returned Jack’s lid, give it a kiss, and slid it back into the corner. I could hear the eyes rolling and heads shaking behind me. 

 

 

My younger nephew with his costume for school

Peanut butter Jelly party guests- easy peasy

 

The Barbie Dolls in original packaging

 I’m not sure where Mom went wrong with my brother. He apparently hasn’t inherited the fondness for pumpkins she passed to me. That is not to say she didn’t instill in him some appreciation of Halloween’s best aspects. He and his wife are well known for coordinating fantastic costumes and their Halloween party that weekend was a monster hit. His children, on the other hand, might be adopted. They are nowhere near as excited about dressing up for Halloween. My older nephew didn’t even wear a costume to school the Friday before Halloween, unlike his brother. And on Halloween evening, neither of them wore a costume to go trick-or-treating, although between the two of them they must have about a dozen costume options. As for me, I brought three. I was like Stevie Nicks: ready for multiple wardrobe changes.

Spending time outside with costumed friends

The kids get into the spirit

The jack-o-lanterns looked amazing as they sat sentry on the front steps all aglow. The party food was great and the ‘boo’ze was flowing. Almost all of the guests were dressed to the nines. My sister-in-law was Harley Quin and my brother was the Joker. I was an Egyptian Pharaoh for the party (and on Halloween I wore a costume reminiscent of ancient China). A few couples brought their costumed kids and that is what finally inspired my nephews to run upstairs and change. They soon returned as Slender Man and my younger nephew being carried by an inflatable alien. 

Trick-or-treating in the neighborhood is a huge event.

Ernie and Bert with rubber ducky

It was the perfect Halloween holiday: costumes, excited kids, and a street lined with trick-or-treators of all ages. I loved party hopping to the tony homes of my family’s friends with clever spider cupcakes, ghost-shaped snacks and adult beverages with fun and scary names. Hmm. Should I have a ‘soul taker’ or a ‘grim reaper?’ Maybe a witch’s brew would go best with guest guts (pasta with red sauce). 

But best of all was the sweet, nostalgic scent of freshly hollowed pumpkins—oh, that glorious fragrance.

 

Harley, Joker, Pharaoh and some kid (my older nephew)

 

My brother and I hamming it up in Austin

Mom made sure I had fun at Halloween from a very young age. I'm Batman!

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Texas Whitecaps

 

Halloween silliness with a buddy

Houston’s 2^nd Fall came just in time for 2021’s Halloween. If you’re not familiar with Houston, you may be wondering what 2^nd Fall is. It’s one of the eight or so Autumn weather patterns that Houston gets in a season. There are usually a few summers thrown in between, just to keep the plants guessing. And if you’re a plant, you really understand Houston’s five Springs—also interspersed with a few summers and winters. I loved living in Maryland in the late 90s, where I finally got to experience life with four full seasons. We only get two seasons in Texas: hot and hotter. We do get winter in all honesty. It lasts about two weeks. But not in a row.

Of course Texas is as large as the ego of a spoiled heiress. The weather can vary greatly in this large state: from our desert southwest to the frigid winter plains of the Panhandle, down to the flat tabletop we call the valley, which is pretty much summer all year long (at least to those native to the wintry arctic tundra that the Panhandle gets from time to time).

I moved back to Texas in 2014 after nineteen years away, and this is first Halloween that has felt like fall—the way Halloween should feel—since my return. It’s usually pretty hot here in October; there’s nothing like decorating for Fall in 90 degree temperatures. But Texas kids are tough. Even the two years in a row that it rained, I thought surely I was going to be stuck with enough candy to change my name to Wonka. But as is typical in my neighborhood, my supplies exhausted early enough to shut down the lights and turn up the horror movies on my TV to drown out the continuing doorbell chimes from the late-callers. You snooze you lose, kids. Or in most cases at that time of night, not so much kids, as young men in hoodies holding out pillow cases who will surely be eating their spoils in the high school lunch room all the next week. But I’m not judging. If I could get away with it, I’d be still be extorting candy in my old age.

House of horrors

I’m always impressed at how unaffected the tiny ones are by the horror I display in my yard. I guess the lure of free candy is greater than fearing imitations of Hell. My poor neighbors, having to endure a month of my heads on stakes, spooky graveyard, bats and witches. Still in recovery mode from the covids and physically unable to accomplish reaching the high horror-decoration standards I set for myself, I decided that this year I would go minimal: just throw a few strings of lights on the bushes and set up my Jack-o-lanterns in the front window. I had to do something since the kids these days have a new modus operandi for trick-or-treating: they only get out of the car at the homes with decorations.

Then my brother and his wife invited me to their Friday night Halloween Eve party in Austin. This would be perfect. I could simply unplug my lights and not have to worry about kids showing up at my house, or the fact that I couldn’t unpack my illusions of fear kept in plastic tubs-o-horror in the garage. With the porch light off I could escape for a bootiful weekend scaring up some fun and...well...booze, in Austin. (I love it when grapes wine.) The pity of finally having fall arrive in Houston for Halloween night was that I would leave town. I’d be missing the perfect weather for the candy hunt. It reminds me of missing school when the substitute teacher was filling in.

A cold-front hits Houston

The cold-front hit on a Wednesday following a nice line of heavy rain moving in from the northwest. On Thursday the proverbial windows were opened to let a fierce wind blow through Texas, complete with wind advisories. This is the day I left for Austin, which is mostly west of Houston. For a good portion of the drive, the headwind was such that even though my cruise control was set for 80, it was holding at 74. I’m not saying that I was speeding. I think 80 might be a lower number than 75, which may or may not have been the speed limit. And if you’re Texas law enforcement, I take liberties with the stories I write and was only going the legal speed limit. Which is 75 except for the cute little speed traps along the way, where I seem to be the only person who actually slows down for them. That’s not taking liberties, it’s called getting old and wondering out loud to the cars passing me so quickly, why are you going so fast? It says 60, not 85! Speed traps aren’t as dangerous as when I was driving so fast in my younger days.

I enjoy the drive between Houston and Austin. There are some slow rolling hills, low Texas mesquite trees, lots of flowers during spring, and passing over the mighty Brazos River excites the native Texan in me. This is the longest river that flows entirely in Texas, with its watershed stretching from New Mexico to the Gulf of Mexico. The full name of the river is Rio de los Brazos de Dios, which roughly translates to “That's a very powerful and inspiring name.” That’s what the internet said; and we all know we can trust that. I do believe, in actuality, that it translates to, “The arms of God.” It was upon the shores of this river in the settlement of Washington that Texas declared its independence from Mexico. I realize this has nothing to do with my story, but I do love Texas history and I bet you didn’t know any of that.

So not only did the constant easterly gale slow my roll up highway 290, it may have pushed all of the water in the Brazos River on down into the Gulf of Mexico. While that may be a Texas tall tale, what isn’t is the fact that the retention ponds and small lakes along the route were covered in white caps. Actual white caps the likes of which I have never seen when not viewing the ocean or one of the Great Lakes of the Northern US. And the winds affected not only water, but traffic. While watching the vehicles with trailers get pushed around the road like a bully in the school lunch line was fun, it was nothing like seeing retention ponds as small as my bedroom topped with white caps. And I swear the east-bound traffic was getting a solid push with that tail wind.

White caps on the Atlantic

There was little traffic between the two Texas cities, which was nice. For once it actually took the three hours to drive to my brother’s that I always say it does—and should—but usually takes closer to four with pee breaks and heavy traffic. (Another sign of increasing age: multiple pee breaks for a three-hour drive.) I think the guy in the big U-Haul truck enjoyed the lack of traffic as well. He passed me in excess of 15MPH over the speed limit, swerving from lane to lane in the wind like a drunk man leaving the scene of a crime. “Don’t hit me, bro.”

After wondering if I shouldn’t have stayed home to drive in conditions that didn’t have me practically crabbing like a private plane in a cross-wind, it was nice to pull in front of my family’s home. I love Halloween and for years I’ve wanted to spend it with my young nephews before they grow out of their prime trick-or-treating years. But as much as I love being home to hand out treats surrounded by my scary decorations, those in pursuit of free candy, decked out in their princess, super-hero, alien, monster, zombie, and hoodie costumes will be there year after year. My nephews window for acceptable trick-or-treating years slowly closes. I may still think of them as needing help going to the restroom, even after correcting my math to remind me that they are nearing middle school—they grow up so fast. They won’t be dressing up much longer and I’m not getting any younger. To them, I must be about 80 years old. Kids these days. I think I should spend the next few Halloweens in Austin. So during this time, best witches.

Texas: all 4 seasons on the same day.

Penguin’s List of The Fourteen Seasons of Houston Weather:

February 1-10 Calico season (a bit of winter, fall and a few days of summer)

February 11-March 15 Spring

March 16- April 30 Hot

May-Jun Summer

July-August Liquid Air Summer (high humidity abounds)

September Enough Summer Already, Please

October 1-10 Fall for everyone but Houston where it’s still summer

October 11- 18 Thank the gods it’s finally Fall

October 19-31 The Return of Summer

November 1-15 Fall

November 15-30 Summer’s farewell visit

December 1-10 Fall part 3

December 11-20 Potluck: perhaps Winter. Or maybe Fall. Summer is quite possible.

December 21-January 30 Two weeks of winter but not in a row. Other wise, Fall.

 

 

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Penguinmas

Feeling great in a new body

Today is my birthday- a day that I generally treat as a holiday and stretch it out as long as possible (and why I never mind belated Penguinmas wishes). Christ gets his mas every year and I think we all deserve our mas. This year I’ve made a particularly big stink about Penguinmas. I’ve not done so purely for attention, although after nearly 2 years of covid isolation and 1 year recovering from the trumpvirus, a little attention sure does feel nice.

I got out of the hospital after 8 days, on January 6, 2021 (Happy Insurrection Day). When I was released, I had lost 22 pounds. That was a very unhealthy side effect 3 weeks after getting sick. When I got home I had a very weak appetite. In fact, the old appetite has yet to return, and thus the hyping the big news that I’m so excited to share.

As I watched the pounds melt away and the loose skin sag and slowly shrink, I began setting weight loss goals, not expecting them to be easy to reach. They are about as easy to reach as the top of Everest. I’ve been overweight pretty much all my life and had reached a point that I didn’t care how high the needle rose. A healthy appetite, love for food, and depression are quite the melange to greater mass. And I’m not known for my willpower. I do as I please.

Before: scary

Each time a post covid weight loss goal was reached, I would set a new one. There were times the pounds seemed to fly away, losing 3 a week. Other times were slower, but I never really changed my diet. Sure, I was no longer eating fast food 1-3x a week. I’ve only been to Whataburger 5 times in the past year! (And each burger and fry is 2 meals!) And yes, I was eating healthier, but I never denied myself anything. To this day I eat dessert almost daily. I still eat pizza, burgers and TexMex and HEB ice cream (so much better than BlueBell). It’s just that with such a small appetite, I’m eating about 1/3 of what I used to. I’d go to Eva’s and eat an entire chimichanga meal with chips and a large ‘rita. That same plate now lasts 3 meals and if I do get the occasional margarita, it’s generally a small one. It’s like eating out has become Hanukkah. Stretch it out.

Speaking of stretch it out, back in high school, 1985, I started working out with Jane Fonda. Not in person—I wish—but some of you may know of her famous workout tape complete with 80s leg warmers and over-synthesized music while coaching us to “stretch it out.” I continued this into college and remember it being low impact and fairly easy on the body, although a tough workout. Jane loved beating me up; after all, she popularized the phrase, “Feel the burn.” I’m glad she was on tape and not in person. There were times I had a few choice words for her. You keep that leg up there, b***h. (I still love you, Jane.)

After: wowza

I squee’d finding the DVD on line so I have been working out with Jane again since April—7 months ago. I have not felt so happy with my physique since the late 80s, when I was lifting weights in college 4x a week. It’s nice running my hands down my legs and feeling muscle instead of fat.

So here is the big reveal that I’ve not mentioned but to a very select and close few. I’m ashamed of how I had let myself go and mentioning the numbers is difficult, but here goes. At my heaviest, I was at least 260 pounds. I suspect I got heavier than that because I stopped stepping on scales. When Mom had her seizure in January of 2020, my stress eating took off like a Besos rocket. Fortunately, after her passing and a few months into quarantine I started to walking 3 miles a day. By the time I contracted covid in December of 2020 I had lost about 10 pounds. Loosing 10 pounds? That was huge for me.

169 pounds on 8December2021

I recall 12 years ago when I started a diet and my goal was to get back under 200 pounds. After struggling to do so I promptly contracted that PenguinPox virus, as my friends named it. Yet another virus that nearly created a Penguin-free world. That’s right, covids wasn’t my 1^st virus rodeo. during recovery from that illness, I waved goodbye to being under 200 pounds and never looked back. Until this past spring. I don’t recall the date that I reached 200- early summer, perhaps. The next set goal was 185. When reaching that, I made my goal 170 pounds...and to be at or below that weight by my birthday. And that’s why the big deal for making this announcement on Penguinmas.

Today is my birthday and I reached 170 pounds on November 23^rd (actually a few days prior...I don’t usually accept a new weight until I get 3 readings at that weight in a row). Going to Dallas for Thanksgiving and feasting on culinary delights with my adopted Mom, Leta and her friends and family, I lost my footing and was scared that when my birthday arrived I might be a pound or 2 over my goal. However, as you can see, I have attained my goal. This morning, Wednesday, I am 169 pounds.

It’s not a diet that I recommend—getting covids—but after all the SHIT that I’ve been through in the past 3 years, this is one thing that I’m happy for and so, very proud of. I know Mom is happy for me, And prior to Itsy’s passing, she was really impressed with my weight loss. I can feel their pride in my progress from across the veil.

In Dallas for Thanksgiving

Beefcake!

I’m not sorry that you might have to suffer with more selfies than I’ve ever taken, but I’m loving how I look after so many years of being heavy. I’ve dropped 4 sizes and now feel like Narcissus- not the plant, but the handsome man who so fell in love with his looks that he couldn’t stop looking at his reflection. I deserve this and I will own it. I may not be as hot as Army Hammer or whoever is on the cover of People’s hottest man of the year issue, but in my magazine it’s me and I’m rocking it!

On sale today!

Thank you for your support and Happy Penguinmas- 90 pounds lighter than a year ago.

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Et tu, Julius

 

I don’t recall how I first learned about Julius Caesar, but I was just a wee-thing. I remember wondering how the guy in the blood-stained white sheet had a chain of drink stands named after him. Little did I know that Orange Julius was actually named after the 1926 founder of the business. I wasn’t familiar with anyone else named Julius, so in my young mind it must have been Julius Caesar, not Julius Freed.

Orange Julius

Soon after, I discovered the same smooth and creamy orange thrill of the Dreamsicle, on a hot Houston day at Southampton preschool. The dreamy orange-flavored Popsicle quickly found a special place in this kid’s summertime cravings. And I didn’t have to force Mom into a trip to the mall food court to enjoy one because they gave them free at school.

I better understood this name, with that dreamy mix of orange and vanilla, it truly was a dream-sicle. But I wondered, did Brutus stab Caesar because he didn’t share his orange-vanilla treat? Kids ask the silliest things. “Drink up, Penguin, there’s a sale at Joske’s…” “OK, Mom.” So I learned about Caesar before I learned about Dreamsicles. That was one heck of a school. It was a Montessori school in the Rice Village section of Houston and I am so thankful for their fostering my independent thinking.

 

It’s been a very long time since I had a smooth and creamy Orange Julius from an Orange Julius stand. This is strange because I have such fond memories of how much I enjoyed them. A few years ago I was on a long flight from New York. While bored I decided to experiment with flavor combinations utilizing open drinks and juice left over from the beverage service. I attempted an Orange Julius but failed in simply mixing orange juice with milk. Even the suggestion from a colleague to add a bit of sugar didn’t help. Leave it to the pros, Penguin. (The recipe for an Orange Julius follows.)

In April of 2004, I went on vacation to the tropical paradise of Phuket Island in Thailand. While enjoying the waves softly closing themselves onto the white sand and then fading away, all from the comfort of my shady lounge chair, I discovered the magic of mango smoothies. Or to be more precise, mangoes in general. I’m not sure how this sweet, creamy fruit had eluded me for so long. For the past third of my life now, I have added mango smoothies, a la Phuket, to my summer repertoire of Dreamsicles.

HEB Grocery Store, a Texas favorite

 

On a recent run for culinary provisions to the HEB grocery store, I found something I’d never come across before while in the cereal aisle. It sounds a bit off-putting, but hear me out because it’s like a trip to tropical paradise—in a bowl: Mango Flakes cereal with Granola clusters and pieces of mango, apple and passion fruit. The flakes are as orange as a Julius (apparently, I’m on a first-name basis now). And similar to the magic of Cocoa Krispies, it colors the milk, but orange in this case, which excites the kid in me. Orange milk!

Even when I saw it sitting there taunting me from the shelf, my first instinct was, “um, gross.” But the kid in me started to jump up and down and I know that kid well enough to understand that when he doesn’t get what he wants he throws a tantrum. And no one wants to see that. “Attention. There is a social media moment in aisle thirteen. Set cameras to stun.” So in the shopping cart it went.

Tropical paradise in a bowl *  

 

It took a full five days before I was brave enough to open the box and give it a try, half expecting to end up tossing it in the garbage. I had already accepted that possibility the moment it hit my shopping cart, making the almond milk wonder what it had done to deserve such a horrific fate. I’m not sure who was more surprised at how delicious it was—me or the milk—showing of its snazzy new orange outfit. And not only was the milk now orange...it tasted very reminiscent of dreamsicle, which started out as a brand name, but is now universally synonymous with the flavor itself. 

I fully intended to write only about finding an odd-flavored cereal and discovering how much I enjoyed its flavor as much as for the childhood memories. So out of curiosity, and lack of knowledge, I researched the Orange Julius chain for this story. 

Before this story I had no idea it was named by creator Julius Freed, or that it was done so in the mid 1920s in Los Angeles. I was actually a bit happy to hear that it was not named in honor of the late, great Caesar. That would surely have required deeper investigating and I’m too busy for all that.

This is where this story takes a turn that I was not expecting.

Food always instills strong memories. Comfort food is a favorite term of mine because it is an accurate label for flavors that take us back to milder times. As compensation for dragging me to the mall when I’d rather be exploring the world outside, Mom would treat me to an Orange Julius. I considered writing the memory as Mom wanting to shop at Penny’s because of one of my favorite movies, “Airplane!” (True fans of the movie will understand. Others can simply do a search for “there’s a sale at Penny’s.”) But Mom never shopped at Penny’s. Her go-to favorites were Foley’s, Saks, Joske’s, Palais Royal, and Lord & Taylor. I often thought we were royalty for shopping in stores with such names. Maybe we were too good for copper Penny’s. 

 

Joske's

Northwest Mall in Houston was a favorite

 

I’m not sure why my brain went with Joske’s—rhymes with frost tease—over any of Mom’s other favorite stores from my childhood, but it did. So of course I decided to check the spelling and history of Joske’s. Joske’s was founded in 1867, one-hundred years before I was born. It was a department store originally based in San Antonio, Texas, the same as HEB Grocery Stores. Would you believe that the founder of Joske’s—a German immigrant—was named Julius Joske?

What started out as Mango cereal reminding me of Orange Julius and my early association to Julius Caesar led to the discovery that Orange Julius and Caesar shared a name. My association of Orange Julius to Mom shopping at Joske’s led to the discovery that Joske also shared the name Julius and that the store was headquartered in San Antonio, Texas, the same city that headquarters HEB, where I found the cereal. I delight investigating facts behind memories when I write. My father once said you never stop learning, and he was on-point about that.

 

Dreamy orange cereal *

I’m not sure if it was my Montessori subliminal genius, or maybe Mom has become a Muse, helping me cull this story from our history together. Either way would be fine. Either way, Mom is sitting there on her cloud smiling down on me while enjoying a dreamy Orange Julius...in a crystal glass she got from Joske’s. She always thought I was brilliant and I always credited her for my creativity. Cheers, Mom. And say hello to Julius. You know the one.

 

⥈

 

You can make an Orange Julius drink at home:

Ingredients

• 6 oz. can frozen orange juice concentrate

• 1 1/2 cup milk

• 1/4 cup sugar

• 2 teaspoons vanilla

• 12 ice cubes

1. Combine the first four ingredients in a blender. Blend on high speed until smooth.

2. Add ice cubes (depending on the size of your ice cubes, you may want more or less. I suggest starting with 8-10). Blend again until ice cubes are crushed and the drink is smooth and creamy. Serve immediately.

Add 4 oz of vodka for a boozy Julie.

Dreamsicle Recipe – Nostalgia on a Stick

Ingredients

• 2 cups orange sherbet, slightly softened

• 2 cups vanilla ice cream, slightly softened

• 1 cup fresh orange juice

• ⅔ cup simple syrup

• ½ cup heavy cream

Combine sherbet and ice cream in a large zip-lock plastic bag. Massage the bag to slightly mix the 2 colors. Make a 3/4-inch cut in bottom corner of bag. Squeeze about 3 tablespoons of sherbet mixture into each of 10 (3-oz) Popsicle molds.

Stir together orange juice, simple syrup, and cream in a liquid measuring cup. Pour juice mixture into Popsicle molds allowing liquid to fill in all the air pockets of the ice cream. Insert Popsicle sticks, and freeze at least 8 hours.

 

 

**

Do you share similar memories? Leave a comment. And let me know how you like the recipes if you try them.

*Photos are not mine except those with asterisks.

**I created the artwork using a photo I did not take.