Are you listening, CVS execs??  I may be on to something here.

Family rules that had been passed down for generations back on my mom’s side in south Louisiana, were that parents would peel crawfish, shrimp and crab for their children until they turned three.  After that, they figured your chubby toddler fingers had enough dexterity to peel and pop those sweet morsels of delectable goodness into your mouth all on your own. I mean, seriously, nowadays toddlers are Instagramming on iPads by the time they are actually using their shoes for walking instead of for cutie-pie show.  If they can Snapchat selfies before they are potty-trained, they should be able to navigate their way through shellfish, right?

Ok, apples and oranges, perhaps. All I knew was at a tender age,  John and I were fending for ourselves when those huge pots of crawfish, Gulf blue crabs and all the potatoes,corn and such were being dumped out on the long tables, with newspapers spread the length.  If you didn’t have crawfish juice running down to your elbows, you were doing something seriously wrong. Kids were drinking Cokes, the adults, beer, and all was right with the world, as siblings, cousins, parents, aunts, uncles and random neighbors and friends were all breaking bread…er…cracking shellfish… together.

And that was how our family spent last Easter weekend, which we purposely started on Saturday, so we could get the most bang for our buck, holiday celebration-wise.

Eating crawfish.  And shrimp. Snow crab, mussels, red potatoes, corn and mushrooms.  If if wasn’t nailed down in the kitchen, I threw it into the huge stock pot of boiling Zatarain seasoning,

As I said before, years ago crawfish wasn’t accessible in our fine Lone Star state. When it did start appearing on the scene, ex-pat Cajuns felt like they’d found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Then by some miracle, a highly sketchy-looking food truck began appearing weekends in the parking lot of a Chevon near our house.  CRAWFISH emblazoned in large red letters on the side. My kids and I thought the hand of God had reached down and specifically blessed each and every one of us.  So on numerous Saturdays, we stood in queue in the gas station parking lot, praying to all that is holy that the person in front of us wasn’t going to buy the crawfish supply bone dry.

6 deep in line one particular weekend, the health dept. inspector showed up to stick his nose all in and around the sketchy food truck. He shut it down. CLOSED. Funny thing was, no one moved one inch out of line.  The minute it was determined that Mike, our beloved Vietnamese Crawfish Purveyor Extraordinaire had only a few minor items to correct, none of which involved salmonella, E. Coli or any other horrific bacteria-humongulosis which would threaten hospitalization or certain death, not one of us was willing to lose our coveted place in line.  Crawfish Mike made a quick trip to Home Depot under the pointed directive of the dour health inspector, corrected whatever semi-vile violations had brought his booming little business to a grinding halt, and then once again, all was right with the world.

Ok, so it’s apparent that it doesn’t make too much for my world to be happy, as long as it involves crawfish. It’s a social thing.  I know you understand.

Which brings me to Blue Bell.

When I started talking to you here this evening, I had the remnants of a half-gallon of Blue Bell’s Caramel Turtle Cheesecake in my freezer.  Somewhere between the first paragraph and this one, that luscious, heavenly scoop of confectionery bliss disappeared. Sorry, but I could hear it calling my name. Now, I have to admit, this purchase was made smack-dab in the middle of Blue Bell’s huge listeria recall.  Stores all over Texas and Oklahoma have been either pulling their products right out of their freezers, or worse, torturing Blue Bell devotees by leaving all the ice cream housed right in those gleaming glass-doored freezers, but all cordoned off. You can SEE all of those wonderful flavors right there…gold rims…silver rims…BROWN rims….beckoning you…luring you. Moo-llenium Crunch.  Dutch Chocolate. Rocky Road. Homemade Vanilla.  Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Scores of pure ice cream genius, but sealed off to our empty hands.

I’m sure I was like most Blue Bell customers, who had their ice cream in my freezer when the recall was announced. I almost didn’t want to check the code on the bottom of the tub, because I didn’t want to find out my beloved was a match for the product codes being recalled.  Not our little creamery in  Brenham.  It wouldn’t do anything to hurt us.  We’ve relied on Blue Bell being Texas, being Texan.  It’s not a company.  It is us.

My daughter and I breathed an audible sigh of relief.  Grabbed two spoons and dug in.

My point.  It seems we will push the envelope for something we love.

And if CVS follows my advice, then that’s where you will find me on Saturdays. Plus, they already sell Blue Bell, too.  Double-bonus.