Happy Donut Day!

Consider the humble donut. So simple in its construction, yet able to bring a grown woman to her knees. I will not deny it. I love a good donut. Or if you prefer, doughnut. Either way you spell it, it is delicious. Not every one loves them with the same pure abandonment as I do however. So, if you are not a donut lover; first of all, my heart goes out to you in sympathy for missing out on one of life’s simple pleasures, secondly, I am jealous of your slender waistline.

When I was very little, I remember having a special affinity for Dunkin Donuts. I’m sure it was kindled by my love of my dad, who shares a name (Duncan) with this wondrous place. While that may have been the beginning, the experience of standing in front of that window (not simply standing but situating myself with my hands and nosed pressed to the glass, moving when it got too foggy, imagining the possibilities) is the memory that wafts deliciously into my heart when I smell maple icing.

Some memories seem to be peppered with tastes and sounds.
For me, driving to early morning seminary sounds like Ace of Base (The Sign) and tastes like a cinnamon twist from Happy Donuts.

Bellingham Washington has many charms. Lafeen’s Donuts (where instead of first thing in the morning, they put the hot donuts out at 10 p.m.) is one of them. The problem is that at 10:05 most nights someone in your house is roaming room to room collecting loose change and donut orders. It is here, that I came face to face with the future love of my life: the lucullan French Cruller. I’d watched one of my roommates order the cruller every time. I was unimpressed. It was showy and proud, but looked dry and suspiciously like it lacked substance. However, as fate would have it, an order was botched, the cruller sat superciliously before me, I took a bite and never looked back. I now consider a French Cruller to be my choice for a well balanced breakfast.

Most Saturdays I wake up, put my shoes on, wonder out to my car and head for Happy Donuts. Where happily, a French Cruller is waiting for me in all its sticky glory.

This post is dedicated:

• to Aims, who alerted me that yesterday was Donut Day;
• to Whitney, who ordered that first French cruller, has shared many with me since then, and with whom I hope to share many more;
• and especially to Bella, who has often waited in the car after being lured out of bed early on Saturdays with the promise of a walk only to sit in the car while I was fogging up the display window at Happy Donuts.

If I wandered into your room right now for your donut order what would you choose?

College Confessional

People make mistakes in college. How else can sororities and fraternities logically be explained? Classes are failed. Hearts and promises are broken. Lines of credit are destroyed. I'm at a place where I'm emotionally stable enough to maturely come to terms with my biggest college mistake. No this isn't the story about how I ran my car into the closed garage door of the house I was renting, nor is it the tale of when I bought my text books before my financial aid money cleared my bank account, it's not even about the crush I had on my Geology 212 lab instructor (he was darn cute and knew a lot about rocks, he even had a dog!).
No, no those are all stories for another day. Today I tell the worst. Before you judge too harshly, can I just start by explaining that I was young, foolish and lonely. Three conditions which I suspect are at the root of almost all mistakes, collegiate or otherwise.
My mistake was a small furry grey kitten. So much destruction and havoc in such an adorable fuzz ball. I was seduced. I was almost instantly sorry. No, that's not true. It took six hours before I was sorry. The first five and half hours of kitten ownership were fun times. But when I saw this little, tiny (no bigger than an apple) creature leaking a yellow liquid on my bed, the panic
started in my heart, pushing aside whatever affection had taken root. What have I done?! I looked at my options. What were they? I couldn't think. The thing was leaking, was peeing on my BED!! AHHHRRRHHH!
So began my friendship with Aniwaniwa. (Ah-knee-wa-knee-wa)
Aniwa or Ani in less formal situations.
My roommates over the years are of two minds: Whitney and Emily (cat lovers) say I made a social commitment in adopting a pet and it would be irresponsible to dump the cat into a forest and drive away. Aimee (cat hater) encourages me to find Aniwaniwa a permanent home in another location. Me? I am torn constantly.

Pros: Aniwaniwa is fun to say, always a plus when I'm trying to think of something charming to say at a party or on a date. (Did I tell you I have a cat named Aniwaniwa?) But is that actually charming? Wouldn't it be cooler if I could talk about having my pilot's license?
Cons: Cats poop.
Pros: Ani is fond of me and meets me at the door to say hello.
Cons: Ani hates everyone else and is mean to children.
Pros: Aniwa will chase a laser pen light all over the house, which is entertaining during commercials.
Cons: I'm not really that fond of cats. Kittens I like. Cats, I know, are their inevitable end, but I didn't think that one through very clearly.

Last Thanksgiving I took this picture as a joke to hang up on my parents picture wall. I thought it would be funny to be the cat lady. Surprisingly and unfortunately, my Dad really liked the picture, so it's still up there.
Now that I've moved in with my parents, I walk past the Picture Wall everyday and chuckle. And what about Aniwaniwa? She has been dumped to live in the forest and loves it.

Operation Enduring Friendship

My roomie, Whitney, moved home for a few months in April. She's under strict doctor's orders to not drive for the next couple of months while she recovers from surgery (scheduled for next week), so has essentially become an inmate of her parents' home. I drove up to Marysville this weekend and successfully liberated her for the afternoon. We had a great time driving up to Bellingham. We went to lunch at my favorite restaurant, Skylarks Cafe, and took Bella on a walk around Fairhaven and down to Boulevard Park. Walking Bella is hilarious because every person who sees her has to gawk, comment on her size and say hello, or quickly move away out of fear of her great girth.

To those of you who know and love Whitney, or know and love me, I invite you to remember Whitney in your prayers this week as she prepares to under go surgery. Here's a picture of Whitney standing next to my true love Ranger Matt. *sigh*
Pictured from L->R: Wren/Karen, Emily Grace, Kimberlina Belle, Whit and the cutest Ranger, Matt. At the North Cascades National Park.

Canis Major

Ok, Bella's "it". She got tagged. A couple of things about the dog:

1. Bella is a great Dane. Emphasis on great . . .

"That's not a dog, that's a horse!" ~Alexa

"Make that drooling stop!"~Callie

2. So, most creatures move away from the fire when they start to feel the affects of melting skin, dehydration, pain, and so forth. Not this girly. No, she lays there and moans. Moans and moans and moans. Until someone has pity on her and shoves her out of the way or turns the fire off or dumps water on her or something.

3. Bella erroneously believes herself to be a small dog. She gets nervous around the "big" dogs at the park. Never mind that they are smaller than her. She wants nothing more than to be able to sit in your lap. She dearly loves to cuddle. Which, given her size, feels more like she's squishing the living daylights out of you. But if you're strong enough to take it, it's very sweet.

4. Ok, this next one is gross so skip it if you are weak-stomached. Bella loves to eat kitty litter---I hang my head in shame for her as she has no proper shame for herself. I do not know why she does this. I cannot understand it. The cats are equally puzzled. And let me tell you, a lot of time and resources have been devoted to try to nip this taste for "alternative protein" in the bud.

5. Bella is smart. But as smart as she is (and folks, she has a big vocab and she really is a smartie-pants, sans the pants) but the finer points of "playing catch" totally elude her. And really, that's not even fair because she understands the catching part but not the part where the human safely retrieves the thrown object and resends it into the atmosphere for continued fun. Bella's idea of fun can be summed up in this conversation I believe is going on in her head . . .
"Bet you can't get this out of my mouth. Look how big my teeth are. And my jaw is too strong for your puny muscles. HA! this toy is mine forever! Wait! where are you going--you're supposed to pry this out of my teeth. Come on! Try it. I dare you weakling. . ."
On closer investigation, maybe I'm the one who doesn't understand the finer points of the game "Toy war".

"We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment."
~George Eliot