the man and the donut reunited

Monday I ordered two dozen apple cider donuts from Cold Hollow Cider Mill. They arrived via Priority Mail on Wednesday, neatly packed in airtight plastic bags, a little squarer for having been packed snugly in the box. Amazingly, all of the donuts were intact and appeared to be quite fresh. The enclosed instructions suggested that the donuts tasted best when served warm. Specifically, they suggested they be placed in the oven at 200 degrees for 3-5 minutes. Since I had the donuts delivered to my work address, I immediately placed one in our toaster oven. To my delight, they tasted every bit as good as I had remembered! The room was filled with the scent of apples and cinnamon.

That night, at home, I warmed up one for Joni. Sadly, it was warm enough but the surface had not re-crisped up like it had for me at work. At work, the exterior regained its crunchy hardness while the inner portion remained soft and airy. I was a little perplexed and disappointed. Perhaps the smaller area of a toaster oven was more efficient than the standard in-home unit. Regardless, I was a little discouraged. Without the crunch, the donut could not achieve its former glory.

The next day I tried heating a donut at work for a morning snack and realized that I had misread the setting dial on the toaster oven. I had set the heat to 200 degrees Celsius which translates to about 350 degrees Fahrenheit! As I had experienced the day before, the donut was crispy on the outside, soft and warm on the inside. Mystery solved! Tonight you can be sure I will be heating more donuts at the 350 degrees setting. And yes, I will be in donut heaven.

addendum to the best doughnut

After reading my latest blog entry, a co-worker Googled "apple donut in Vermont" and actually located the apple orchard/bakery detailed in the post below. It not only still exists, but appears to have thrived and expanded. It is the Cold Hollow Apple Cider Mill located in Stowe, Vermont.

They offer their donuts (their spelling, not mine) in dozen batches and can be shipped anywhere. Circumstances preclude me from immediately ordering my first couple of dozen donuts, but you can be assured, I will faithfully report upon the experience once it has transpired. (Or, are some things best left to memory, like the first girl you had a crush on?)

Check out their website at: http://www.coldhollow.com.

Sadly, I can see my memory had embellished the Rube Goldberg donut machine. It appears thusly,

the best doughnut

As a result of stern advice from my doctor (not to mention the recent diagnosis of prostate cancer), I have endeavored to lose weight over the past 4 months. Through a regiment of regular cardio, weight training and a strict and reduced caloric intake (documented religiously on a weight-loss app loaded onto my iPod), I have successfully lost somewhere between a fluctuating eighteen to twenty pounds.

During this time, I have only succumbed to one of my favorite guilty pleasures of doughnuts (or donuts), only three times. Fundamentally, there is no good thing health-wise that can be derived from doughnuts. They are essentially ring-shaped carbohydrates that have been fried. (Have you noticed that some of the best tasting things seem to be fried?) However, in spite of the nutritional deficiencies inherent in doughnuts, I would be remiss in not mentioning the pure gastronomic delight derived from these cardiac time bombs. I'm sorry but I cannot help but smile involuntarily upon my first bite into a newly cooked (yes, fried) doughnut. In my mind, doughnuts were the forbidden fruit growing on that tree in the Garden of Eden. It was no apple that Eve proffered Adam. It was a doughnut. It was the doughnut that gave Adam insight into the sins of the world and revealed to him his own nakedness as well as Eve's. But, I digress.

Abstinence often triggers memories of past experiences, and as I reminisce I can vividly recall the best doughnut I ever gobbled down. Flashback to 1996, during our family's three-year stint in Connecticut to support Joni's attendance at Yale Law School. We often tried to take advantage of the surrounding locale to explore an area we had not previously visited. One of our forays took us into Vermont where we toured the headquarters of Ben and Jerry's and visited the lodge of the Von Trapp Family (of Sound of Music fame). It was on our loop homeward that we spotted a barn on the side of the rural Vermont road that advertised "Apple Pie, Apple Cider, Apple Doughnuts" and invited us to "Come On In." There are many apple orchards in New England with structures adjoining the orchards that featured homemade delights made from apples. Honestly, we had not visited one that did not prove to be a joyful discovery. And so, with anticipation, we pulled into the dirt parking lot to visit the barn that housed the bakery and store.

As I crossed the threshold of the open barn door, I was overcome by the smell of apples and cinnamon. In front of me, loomed a Rube Goldberg contraption that occupied the entire central area of the main room. It featured a snake like switchback of conveyer belts, a central housing for the motor that powered the belts and a stream of hot, bubbling oil. At the far end, the conveyer fed O-shaped forms of lightly brown dough that ended in the bubbling stream where the raw doughnuts were delicately plopped. From there, the doughnuts drifted downstream slowly as they cooked. Finally, through with their little swim, the apple-infused doughnuts were picked-up by a final conveyor belt to be deposited into a bin where they were scooped up by the grandfatherly purveyor, put into a sheet of wax paper and placed in my outstretched hands. I could only look down at my hands in silent awe as I felt the warmth of the just cooked doughnuts radiate through the wax paper and the napkins beneath. As I looked up at Grandfather Doughnut, he smiled knowingly as if to say, "Yes, I know, it's a miracle isn't it? Wait until you taste it!"

The interior of that barn and everything else faded into black as my taste buds overwhelmed all other senses. My endorphins obviously exploded as the warm, fresh, apple and cinnamon infused doughnut hit my tongue. The texture was perfect. Crunchy on the outside with a velvety-smooth interior that melted like butter in my mouth. I must have eaten six in a row without pause. I think Marissa and Joni did the same. I had been transformed at that moment to a new level of doughnut spirituality and worship. Ultimately, we returned to our car, clutching another dozen of the doughnuts in a brown paper bag, the oil blotting the exterior as it soaked through. We resumed our trip home as the barn disappeared behind the bends of the road and the hilly green landscape.

I will never be able to return to that barn. I have no memory of what route we took as we returned from our trip to Vermont. It was over fifteen years ago now. Perhaps that orchard no longer exists or it was taken over by somebody else who dismantled that doughnut-making machine. Or, perhaps I'm just being pessimistic. Perhaps it is still there, run by the next generation of a family devoted to the family orchards and business. Whatever the case, I will never forget the best doughnut I ever tasted.

class reunion ruminations

I’ve recently participated in organizing my 40^th high school reunion. Interestingly, this activity has conjured up many memories of that past life, reviving all of the insecurities, conflicts, crushes and friendships that had overwhelmed me at that time.

I’m sure, as is common, I view myself internally as being much younger than I appear externally. Inside, in large part thrives a young man just stepping into maturity, outside, captured in the harsh reality of a mirror, is the aging man (albeit with a rather bewildered look on his face,) who has weathered many experiences and lessons that sometimes seem too easily forgotten. It is much easier to look outward at my former classmates of the reunion committee than inward to gauge how much progress or wisdom has been accumulated over the years.

I can still envision them all as they appeared in high school. Some have changed more than others. And I remember my encounters with them back then, impressions readily recounted, emotions re-lived - but gone are any harsh judgments or categorizations. Although they are not as attractive (i.e. "youthful") as they were in high school (and I include myself here without hesitation), there is a patina of beauty that surrounds them, borne from their years of struggling, loving, raising children and experiencing all of the triumphs and disappointments that life has to offer. They have all achieved a manner of dignity and grace that makes me want to embrace them and declare, “Look how far we’ve come!” from that same starting point of our humble high school.

death of a sparrow

This morning as I departed for work I discovered a dead sparrow on my steps. Initially, I thought it was a sad thing, then my mind wandered to the idea of the universality of death and finally, the thought that in some cultures or in other times this may have been taken as an omen of bad things to come. Was this an omen I wondered? I know I have taken comfort in the past at discovering a praying mantis in my yard, actually often perched atop my door way as if monitoring my comings and goings. In the oriental culture, the presence of a praying mantis portends good fortune. No, I decided, the dead sparrow on my steps was not a bad omen. But yes, the praying mantis was a good sign. Basically, I chose to reject the negative notion but accept the favorable one.

I grabbed a shovel to pick up the bird and place it gently into my garbage can. Perhaps I should have buried it in the yard, but the garbage can was a more expedient option and I didn't want Joni to discover the bird for herself for fear that she would find it upsetting. The bird seemed remarkably, silently at rest. I could easily imagine its skittish and rapid movements in life as I have witnessed these birds almost daily throughout the years. I could see the way it would tilt its head from side to side to look at you, how it would hop on the ground and how its wings would flutter just prior to taking flight.

The contrast between this vision of the bird in life and the still body on my shovel was a revelation to me. Earlier this week I had heard a quote by John Muir, "Death is as beautiful as life." That statement has lingered in my mind since that time. There is a truth to it that I hadn't considered before. I had never really thought of death in those terms. And now, before me, lay this fragile little bird, eyes closed in a peaceful, quiet and still oblivion. It was oddly beautiful. We all pass through this world like visitors, vast numbers of us sharing the same time and place on this earth. We overlap. Some of us pass early in our visit, others pass during other times. Some are born during our visit and linger beyond our own time. Everybody who has ever lived on this planet has and will cease to exist in this realm. As a child, death would frighten me. Now, as I grow older, I see it is the way of all things and there is a beauty in the cycle and universality of the process. "Death is as beautiful as life."

Class Reunion

Sadly, I've reached yet another milestone in my life, the 40th reunion of my graduating high school class. Yes, I'm old. This is a fact not lost on me. Whenever I encounter a former classmate, immediately after our initial surprised greeting, there is a pause, followed by an exasperated and shared simultaneous utterance, "We're old!" (But, I must admit in a vain - and I mean this in both definitions of the word - way, I still look pretty damn good for an old guy!)

Interestingly, nobody in my graduating class, specifically the class officers, wanted to take on the responsibility of organizing a reunion. Former classmates asked me if I had heard anything about an upcoming event. No, I had not nor had they. Ultimately, I decided if nobody was going to do it, then I would rise to the occasion. After all, it is our 40th. I reasoned that this way I would have the power to fashion the event to my "vision" of a successful reunion.

I had participated in the planning of my 30th and part of the criticism of that reunion was attributed directly to my influence. I had been told by somebody in the class before mine that they had held their reunion at our old school. The school provided catering at a reasonable price and he claimed it was a big success affording everybody the opportunity to see the old school, have a nice meal and mingle. I campaigned for our reunion to be held at our school. In short the food was mediocre even for the price, the setting was a little depressing (being held in the cafeteria area where no amount of decorations could enhance the dismal room. True, it was our old school, so what more could you expect by way of a lavish room? Nonetheless . . . ) and overall, perhaps the school was best left in our "enriched" memory rather than presented to us in its stark present-day reality. So perhaps part of my motivation in assuming command of our reunion was as a means of atonement.

Luckily, I had been in discussion with two of my former classmates regarding our reunion. Both were on the 30-year planning committee with me so I was not alone. We reasoned that although we could enlist the aid of others, perhaps it would be better to keep our number small. This would enable us to make decisions swiftly without a large group consensus and we could justifiably organize a simple, uncomplicated reunion that could be executed nimbly since we didn't have much time. After all of these years, you'd think my cynicism would have kicked in to warn me, but almost immediately after announcing that I was taking on the reunion, criticism (and offers to help) ensued. How word of my efforts spread so quickly I'll never know. Classmates emerged from the woodwork. Admittedly, I was offended and angered by the criticism and suggestions from the once silent, non-existent contingent. My initial reaction was to ignore my classmates and proceed accordingly, but later I decided to allow them a forum to provide their input to ultimately diffuse their post-reunion criticisms.

I extended an invitation to all interested parties to meet to discuss their ideas, argue for my original concept and gain some sort of consensus going forward. In the end, nine people attended. At the conclusion of the meeting, my ideas were supported and embraced overall with the added benefit of additional support in implementing the reunion. We will be having a reception at Phillips Gallery in Salt Lake City on a Friday night in August. There will be hors d'oeuvres, drinks and an open bar. My main conceit is that nobody likes a sit-down dinner with an exorbitant price as a venue for a reunion. Primarily, people just want to visit, move about freely and re-connect with old friends. A reception in a nice setting provides just such an opportunity. Classmates need only show-up, pay the admission price and visit to their heart's content.

I did have difficulties during the initial planning session. Everybody wanted to catch-up and as mentioned, some had opposing views regarding the reunion. It was aggravating for me. When I complained to a friend, she asked me why I would volunteer to spearhead the reunion. I wasn't particularly popular. Truth be told, I was pretty much under the radar. I didn't form a lot of friendships and those friendships that I did form have not particularly endured over the years.

I suppose my motivations are numerous. As mentioned above, there is the atonement thing. I feel badly that the main criticism for the last reunion was directly attributable to me. Perhaps another motivation is to attempt a "do-over" of my time in high school. I never felt like I took full advantage of the social and enjoyable possibilities back then, hampered by my massive insecurities and shyness. Perhaps it is a nice distraction from my recent diagnosis of prostate cancer while I decide upon what course of treatment to ultimately undergo. Perhaps it is just the enjoyment of planning a social event. It is oddly stimulating, amusing and fulfilling to me. (Somehow working on the reunion has brought me back to that scrawny, shy high school kid. I LIKE that kid even though he may not have liked himself very much back then. I feel more complete, more whole - myself re-invented. I am the product of all of my experiences and I have re-animated that more vulnerable, insecure part of me that also possessed more hope, more optimism and wonder. I am younger, less cynical, more joyful.)

Whatever the reason for engaging in the planning of my reunion though, I AM having a good time and I'm confident that a good time will be had by all.

conspicuous consumerism: my single-handed attempt to buoy the U.S. economy

"What do you want for Father's Day?" Joni asked me a few days ago. I'm not sure how this tradition of giving presents to each other on Mother's Day and Father's Day began between us. This ritual continually perplexes me. Joni is not my mother, nor am I her father. Logically, it may have begun when Joni was pregnant with Marissa, our daughter, but I vaguely recall it began earlier than that. Who am I to argue with an opportunity for a gift though? Joni knows I always want SOMETHING and that the path of least resistance is to just ask. We're both much happier that way. I have to interject though that she rarely reciprocates. When I ask her what she wants, she shrugs, "Surprise me," she inevitably responds, which puts tremendous pressure upon me until the ceremonial unwrapping. Usually she's pleased with my efforts, but believe me, if she is not, she cannot disguise her disappointment . . . But I digress.

As always, I make a mental note of our financial circumstances and gauge how much I feel we can afford to spend this time around. Father's Day is a more trivial "holiday" so I never go for the big ticket items. No, such things are best requested around Christmas. But, I always covet items in a broad price range for just such occasions. This year I have opted for a Flash USB Swiss Army Knife. This handy little device sports the small blade, the scissors, the fingernail file, LED flashlight, pen and a USB flash drive (8GB. It also comes in 4GB and 16GB sizes). It comes in around $75 on Amazon.com, my go-to shopping mall in cyberspace.

I recognize that there is something unseemly about my acquisitiveness and believe me, I have tried for many years to curtail it. I was extremely successful when I was laid off from AT&T (after 23 years, but don't get me started!). Necessity is a wonderful motivator. As an example, my doctor recently ordered me to lose weight due to issues that could escalate. Nothing serious, your usual pre-diabetes potential, high blood pressure, elevating cholesterol, etc. Yes, I'm a mess! Thank you very much! Vanity used to serve as a motivator to keep my weight down to some extent, but conspicuous consumption is my disease of choice and it extends into all aspects of my life. So I was losing (which means gaining weight) on that front as well. Now, happily, I am trimmer than I have been in years. Necessity is a cruel but effective master. But again, I digress.

Some years have passed since my layoff from AT&T and we have equalized our income to a relatively stable point (thanks, primarily to Joni. God bless her Yale Law School education). So needless to say, my bad habits have returned. I can attest that my purchases occur less often and at a much scaled-down rate, so I suppose I am making some progress. I recognize I have a problem and they say recognition is the beginning of the road to recovery. I often joke that I am simply trying to do my share to stimulate the U.S. economy through my purchases, but let's face it, I often feel guilty at any indulgences.

The two indulgences I don't regret in my life however (and these are big ones, mind you), are my Audi TT and my Steinway Grand Piano. I have coveted the TT from the moment it was unveiled to the public in 1999. To me, it is the standard of automobile design excellence, maintaining an integrity of design that is evident in every detail down to the door handles. I have the privilege of driving this design masterpiece to and from work every day.

And the Steinway, well it was not my idea to purchase it so I can plead a certain amount of innocence in ultimately becoming a proud owner. Joni had a friend who was encountering some financial setbacks and thus offered her the piano at a very reasonable price. The piano was in desperate need of rehabilitation, but even with those costs factored in, it was a bargain. Just as I smile contentedly driving my TT, so too, do I smile whenever I sit down to play a tune on my piano.

Yes, I have mixed feelings about my capitalistic ways. I suppose I should just get over those feelings of guilt. We spend our money how we choose to spend it. Some opt for drugs, some for lavish homes. Some, many, are not as fortunate. Overall, I guess I should just be thankful that I do have disposable income available. I am grateful that I have a roof over my head, that I don't have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. Yes, there are many people who are far more fortunate than I am, but there are many who are far less fortunate as well. Even more importantly, I have to conclude (as I process this through this writing) we have to be thankful for all of our blessings and not for just the material things. The idea that our possessions can be taken from us in an instant is evident in the news photos of events like the various tsunamis, and tornadoes that have recently transpired. "Things" wear out, are destroyed, become obsolete.

The truly important aspects of our life are not the material objects. They are the relationships we form, the way we live our life, the manner in which we share our journey. I am blessed with a wife who loves me, a beautiful, intelligent daughter, and an overall happy life. The TT and the Steinway are nice little embellishments, but in a fire, they can burn. It would be my wife and daughter I would be saving.