The Sugar Bowl

The wisdom of old age is a curse and a blessing. So many things I would do again, for pleasure or redemption. If I could turn a dial and go back, the first thing I would do is make my way to The Sugar Bowl for a Brownie Fudge Sundae.

You see, I didn’t spend nearly as much time enjoying life while I lived it. 

We are all born with a bank account of days. An account to which we never know the balance. An account from which we must decide how to spend its currency. And, as for me, I spent far too many of them focusing on things that did not matter. Stressing about this inconsequential thing or another.

So yes, for me it would be back to The Sugar Bowl. After placing my order I would plant myself in a chair and savor each bite, the melted fudge and gooey brownie inevitably landing on my blouse at some point. If I close my eyes tightly enough, I can almost taste the swirl of chocolate and vanilla, feel the warm, dry air of a Scottsdale evening. 

Finishing my delightful dessert, I would meander my way through the streets of Old Town Scottsdale, forgetting to be impatient.

How many times had I walked these blocks?
How many times did I rush my way through, not enjoying the pleasure of a walk, the sights, the sounds? 

Having worked my way through a place that held so many years of memories, I would make my way next to ever-beckoning Superstition Mountains.

Back to where it all began. 

Slowing down at the familiar turn off, I would stop the car, the desert crunching beneath my sneakers. Running now, heart pounding as I wound my way this place, this place that I knew like the back of my hand. If I timed it right, I would make the crest of the hill before the sun fell.

The Sugar Bowl was my place of pleasured memories. 
But here, this spot, this was my redemption.