Where have all the good donuts gone?

I am a self proclaimed donut connoisseur. I remember when donut shops were everywhere, and eating them for breakfast wasn't considered a mortal sin. There was Mr. Donut with the best chocolate cake donuts that had just a tad of a coffee taste -- they were "mocha" before we even knew "mocha"-- and they were dipped in glaze.

These shops were teeny tiny and people sat at a counter on stools and ate the freshly coiffed delicacies while they drank coffee, kept warm in glass pots on a burner. They didn't serve anything else: donuts, coffee, milk in mini cartons and orange juice -- that was it.

I remember a local shop, Dippy Donut. They had a great sign on the wall in the shape of a donut with a mirror where the hole should be. Around the donut was painted, "The object of a life should be to keep your eye upon the donut and not upon the hole." Their donuts were bigger than Mr. Donut, and they had a cherry cake donut, like no other -- that's cherry dough, mind you, not just a white cake donut with cherry frosting.

And then, of course, there were bakeries, actual bakeries that made their own baked goods (and fried goods in the case of donuts). You could walk in and order a "home-cut", and they knew what you were talking about. That's the kind my dad would always get: homecut. I used to think, "That must be a grown up thing to do. When I am grown up I'll understand the logic of ordering a completely plain donut, but for right now I'm going to go ahead and do the childish thing and order mine complete with frosting and sprinkles." I love the fact that my dad ordered homecut donuts and would drink coffee from a thermos when we went on weekend drives in our Volkswagen camper. I love the fact that we had a Volkswagen camper, but that is another post entirely.

Now, as I have "matured", I've never had a hankering for a homecut, but I have craved a maple frosted with peanuts -- a variety reserved for the much older generation a bakery employee once told me: "We only make a few of those these days. Most of the people that like that kind are dying off."

Dying off like the penchant for donuts in general, I would suppose. Well, I am happy to say that I have passed on the donut gene to my son. He loves his donuts! Sometimes even before his mommy can get him fully dressed in the morning. . .

Fried Dough Live On!

Keats was right. . .

I never used to get all that poetry stuff...I was an English major with a dirty little secret: I hated poetry. I hadn't read one since college. It was only recently when I had to teach poetry in one of my classes, that I actually read a poem again. I was feeling like a total hypocrite up there trying to convince a classroom of Comp I students that poetry was a worthy pursuit. They were whining, "Why do we have to learn this stuff? I'm not going to have to use it when I am an auto mechanic." (Remember these are not English majors, and I am not at an Ivy league school.) I was frantically searching for an answer beyond, "It's good for you." As I desperately wroung the depths of my soul for justification of its worthiness, I was silently, whole heartedly-agreeing with every word they were saying--- I literally had never used any of my grand knowedge of poetry until that very moment -- and I was an English major. Our time was probably much more practically spent learning the difference between a run-on and a complete sentence, or better yet, that capital letters have a purpose in written communication and that "you" is not spelled "u" for a good reason. But we trudged on, and I prayed they wouldn't discover my charade. . . and then. . .

I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,

The air was cooling, and so very still,

That the sweet buds which with a modest pride

Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,

Their scantly leav’d, and finely tapering stems,

Had not yet lost those starry diadems . . .

. . .So I straightaway began to pluck a posey . . .

. . . Was a poet born?

Oh and by the way . . . It's done!

Before the Easter parade started, I, of course, had to finish the Superman cape. It isn’t perfect. The flaws can be seen with the naked eye, but it is done.

However, I must let you know, my gentle readers, my climactic last snip of the scissors was not met with the accolades, and best-mom-in the-world status as I had hoped.

As soon as I pulled its majestic, velvety, super heroedness from beneath the presser foot, I rushed upstairs to show off my finished product. The intended of the “handmade with love” garment ran to the other end of the room and yelled, “NO!”.

“No? What do you mean no?”

“It will make me look funny, like a duck.”

“Like a duck? What are you talking about?”

“Daddy said it would make me look like a duck.”

“Oh, Daddy? What is this about a duck in a cape?, “ I call with all the patience I can muster.

According to Daddy, he told Thee that the Superman Cape mommy was making was just like the one Duck Dodgers was wearing. He went on to say that when Thee wore his he would look just like Duck Dodgers.

Thee is smart enough to know that Duck Dodgers is not the hero of that cartoon, but rather the buffoon.

After promising an ice cream cone and a viewing of the Star Trek movie, Thee put the cape on long enough for me to take a picture of it.

Oh...that man of mine, I love him so.....

We're still here . . . just busy as rabbits in the spring . . .

Well, it has been a while since I posted. A lot has been going on around here. I’ve been gradin’, and cookin’, and craftin’ and cleanin’ getting ready for the big celebration that was last Sunday. We made it through. The house was clean, the baskets were filled, the ham was moist, and the cheesy potatoes were a hit. We even made it to church. I pulled it off once again, but only by the whiskers of my bunny-rabbit chinny, chin, chin.

First we dyed the eggs:


And then we baked a cake:

Then we danced gracefully and rode the bike around the dining room table while Herb Albert played on the record player:

Then we got all gussied up:

We looked for eggs:

Then we fell into the bramble bush in pursuit of the second to the last egg, and ended up with a basket full of chocolately goodness and a double bandaided knee, -- Nothin’ better than that.



What a day!

Montessori for Thee....Sewing Class and Psychotherapy for Mom

Well, Thee is all signed up for preschool in the fall. I waited in line for four hours to make sure he got his space in the one and only Montessori school in our community. So regardless of the comments of my brother, "Oh I remember the Montessori kids; they were always a little wierd!", Theo will be attending school two days a week for a couple of hours.

The key to success in Montessori is a sense of independence. If that is all it takes, Thee has that mastered. Our new mantra around here is, "I can do it myself" This includes choosing the outfit for the day, baking cupcakes, using the microwave to heat chicken nuggets, washing hands, opening the car door and getting in the seat, building intricate Geo Track configurations, and running the DVD player (he mastered that one about a year ago).

The other day I said, "Gee Thee, don't you need mommy for anything anymore?"

He looked up at me with those big eyes and said, "I need you to get nice and cozy." It helped a little bit, but I am definitely beginning to get the idea that I am now entering the stage of "Nice- to- have-around, but-really-not-necessary-for-survival."

With my most-important-person-in-the-world status a little threatened, I have been advertising some of my other qualities that will surely secure me an indespensible role in the coming years, one of those being costume designer. I am beginning to get a few requests to show off my sewing prowess. A couple of weeks ago we were at Menards, of all places, and they were selling cheap sweatshirts in odd colors. Thee immediately recognized one of the colors as the color of Captain Kirk's shirt in Star Trek. Feeling a need to showcase my unique talents, I quickly blurted out without thinking, "Oh, would you like mommy to make you a shirt just like Captain Kirk?" I'll let you guess the answer.

So for the last couple of weeks I have been questioned on the date of completion of said Captain Kirk shirt. I was able to secure a much coveted Star Trek communicator badge after a rather rigurous bidding war on e-bay -- who knew Mama had it in her. I delivered the prize at only $15.00. (I am afraid to look at how much it would have cost me to just get a brand new one). I have not however, managed to pull out the sewing machine and lower that little presser foot. Perfomance anxiety perhaps? Quite frankly, yes. I do know how to sew -- the kind of sewing you do in Jr. High Home Ec class. I worked with 100 percent cotton broad cloth. Today's fabrics are overloaded with stretchy fabrications that move and bunch and create havoc for a little seamstress like me. Somehow in the swell of all the attention I was getting as I was promising an authentic Captain's tunic, I made pronouncements of tailoring the sleeves, inserting a black collar and re-fashioning the bottom of the garmet. I can't do all of that. I can make simple valances for the bathroom, and a half set of napkins for some fancy Christmas dinner I dreamed up. What have I done? I know better than this. I was in marketing for God's sake. "Never over promise, unless you are prepared to figure out a way to pull it off -- you can't underdeliver -- your reputation will be destroyed as a supplier for ever. You have to make the customer happy and deliver on time, no matter what the cost!"

I tried rolling up the sleeves and pinning on the badge and calling it good. Thee didn't go for it. His response, "Mom this is too big" Even after he put on his black snow boots, it just didn't look like Captain Kirk.
In an attempt to divert his obsession, I promised a different costume -- a much simpler Superman cape. I have it all cut out, but the "authentic Superman insignia" requires that you use the zig-zag foot. The zig-zag foot was covered in 9th grade sewing. I didn't take 9th grade sewing. I wouldn't have been caught dead in a elective home-ec class -- I was strictly in the college prep trek by then-- A.P. all the way -- who will need to know how to sew when you have an advanced degree from a prestigous university.

I gotta go...I've got to finish this these things by Easter...my brother and his family are coming and I jacked up the ante to homemade superman capes for all children in attendance.