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White, fluffy clouds of sugar and meringue. It's an old school candy and you rarely see it these days. I think you have to be over 60 years old to even know what divinity is.

My Grandma Murphy passed away in June of 2002. She lived in my parents' home for the nine or so months before her death, and so did I. I was incredibly fortunate to have spent that last Christmas with her for many reasons, but the one thing for which I will be eternally grateful is that she taught me her fine art of divinity-making.

Grandma Murphy's divinity was famous. There is actually a Judd family secret recipe. (Judd was Grandma Murphy's maiden name.) Great Grandma Judd passed it on to Grandma Murphy, and then she taught me how to make it. Unfortunately for you, the reader, I am not yet ready to give up the secret.

Another thing for which Grandma Murphy was known was her sense of humor. That Christmas in 2001, we scorched the first batch of divinity. Well, scorched divinity doesn't necessarily look burned. It looked beautiful, but tasted like rubber. While we were mulling over what we had done wrong with that batch, Grandpa Murphy walked into the kitchen. Grandma and I looked at each other and Grandma offered Grandpa one of the fluffy white candies. Grandpa's eyes lit up, and I had to turn away to keep from laughing out loud. One bite of the candy, and Grandpa let out a fine stream of old-fashioned cursing as he frantically spit it out into the garbage can. Grandma and I were both laughing hysterically, but Grandma paused long enough to say, "Murphy! Watch your language!" with a straight face.


Grandma didn't leave much behind when she died, and anything she may have left was certainly not left to me. I don't think any of the other grandkids (or maybe even her own kids) got the benefit of a divinity-making lesson, though, and I believe I received a priceless gift that year. Now Jake and I make it each year for Christmas and I remember my Grandma Murphy each time.

Thank you Grandma! Merry Christmas!