Playing Fair and Being Kind

TEN, FORTY-THREE, and SIXTY-FIVE

Ten minutes ago I finished chewing the most delightful morsel of warm doughnut smeared with Maine blueberry jam. Last night I was driving back from the Maine State Prison where I had gone to recruit men to attend an AVP Basic workshop two weeks from now. During the trip I’d gotten a yearning for plain doughnuts so I swung by the old Crunchy Snail. The eatery is now called something else, Baker’s Way I think. Happily they were open and there were plain doughnuts in the glass case that faces the entrance. I bought a half dozen and continued to The Castle. This morning I carefully sliced the doughnuts to make two round halves and put them on the griddle to heat up. I browned the inner surfaces to a toasty crisp while a made a cup of pour-through Italian roast coffee. I retrieved a tub of blueberry jam from the refrigerator and settled in with a copy of The Sun magazine to enjoy the morning.

I sat and ate the jam smeared morsels bit by bit and during this delicate feast I wondered how the rest of the world was doing. Was anyone more delighted with their situation than I? I wondered. Soon I was wondering about other moments like this; sitting and eating simple delicacies and quietly enjoying the moment. Here are two more.

Forty-three years ago I was camping in Borego Springs, California with my friend Donna. She was a Navy ensign attached to VF-1 at Miramar Naval Air Station near San Diego. We were spending a few days tenting near Henderson Canyon. Donna was a fun person, a Navy brat, and a brilliant companion with a flair for the silly. We went on a short hike up the canyon and stopped to have a little lunch. We climbed up the side of the canyon wall to find a place to sit and eat and to enjoy the view of our surroundings. Donna had packed Ritz crackers and strawberry jam. We sat and took turns loading up the crackers with the jam and then Donna did a thing that was wickedly funny. She put the cracker in her mouth and chewed it a bit and then said, “Mmmm! Good Crackah!” She was imitating Andy Griffith from the Ritz cracker commercial that was popular in the ‘seventies. She cracked me up and we continued to stuff our mouths with the snack and each time we would compete for the best “Good Crackah!”. That is a moment I’ll never forget.

Sixty-five years ago somewhere along the road before there were interstate highways my mother, my brother, and I had just arrived in a small town that was our next venue. We traveled with the Hamid-Morton Circus and the routine we followed was we arrive in town, find the fairgrounds, gain entry from the Fairgrounds Committee Office, and then pick a place on the racetrack infield to pitch our tent. We lived in the tent for the week and my mother worked two shows a day on the stage facing the grandstand across the track. Well, this day it was raining cats and dogs and the weather report didn’t give us much hope of opening the show at all for the week. We didn’t take out our tent so we went inside the dressing tent that was provided by the Committee for the use of the Circus performers. No one else had arrived and probably many of the performers would by-pass the town since the weather indicated that the show might be canceled early.

The sky was dark with rain clouds and the rain was steady. Plus the air temperatures had dropped unusually cool for July. Everything was soaked. We huddled in the dressing tent by ourselves. Ordinarily there are other concessions open on the mid-way but the fairgrounds were deserted of people. The tents were all up and ready for customers but the weather put a damper on everything. That situation left us with no where to go to eat as we normally did when we first arrive at a new town. We sat in the tent and wondered where or what we were going to eat and if we would even set up our tent. My mother did her best with us. We boys were 16 and 13 years old and “starving to death”. She rummaged through our food box in the truck and found a can of Dinty Moore’s Beef Stew. Of course she needed to locate the can opener as well. After all, this was 1952. I recall the Dinty Moore’s can was large back then. At any rate we got it open and much to our disgust there was that layer of congealed grease over the top that we had to break through to get to the better parts. We had one spoon and no dishes so we ate out of the can by passing it around. Moments like these we remember minute details. I could fill a book. That stew was remarkably delicious.

So there we have it. My memorable moments in my life of eating delicacies. Doughnuts with blueberry jam, Ritz crackers with Donna, and Dinty Moore’s stew in a cold, rainy fairgrounds.

G. M. Goodwin

6 December 2017