Memories are made of this

A trip to Tim Horton’s,

the original doughnut people.

 credit: underthehighchair.com; just an illustration.

It’s been a few days since my last venture into the Blosgosphere, One, to take care of a big bit of business, and Two, to have a rare, I mean a rare day off. I’ve been running tired, and I just knew it was time to obey my own advice: Take care of yourself, Boy! Yes, I wrote an advice piece on my former Bryce’s Blog for Seniors, addressed to care givers. Beware of Fatigue, I warned. For I knew wherof I spake. I’m still in care-giving mode, every day, and I still speak this advice — and my poem by that title will appear in my upcoming (it’s nearly up, and it is coming) book, “Chasing a Butterfly.”

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Even from its current incarnation, Tim Horton’s once again in U.S. hands, this time, again, with a giant hamburger chain, one gets nostalgic for the old days. Memories, memories. Display case after display case with a bewildering array of doughnuts:

Plain (that’s a rarity these days, it seems, although I did snag a box of plain Timbits — a taste of home, when my mom made doughnuts on the old wood-burning stove.) It only takes a whiff to waft you back in time. Ah! Childhood;

Chocolate iced, caramel iced, stuffed with Boston Cream Pie filling (ah, the sweet memories of teen-age years ordering that one when first out on one’s own and Mom wasn’t there to say tut-tut Son, watch that sweet tooth;

Doughnuts finished with sprinkles;

That all-time favourite, the Apple Fritter. Ah! A little piece of heaven. Memories of snagging two of those and a hot coffee on the way to work. Yessirree. Too bad they cut back on the apple;

Even my wife’s favourite, the “cream puff” doughnut that was similar in shape to the famous Long John (another of my favourites), chocolate-covered doughnut that was more like a hot-dog bun shape.

Well, really, there were too many to chose from and I would stand there “forever,” just soaking in the atmosphere while customer group after customer group ate their way through the choices.

This time, however, there was only one display case with doughnuts. I spotted the plain Timbits right away. I stepped up to the order counter. Pause here: It’s been a while since I’ve been in a Tim Horton’s, so each time I venture in (Yes Mom, I DO have to “Watch that sweet tooth, Son” ), I have to learn the price structure, etc., as prices these days seem to be controlled by the Devil himself. There were no price boards displayed and no prices tagged on the displays.

Here’s how it went:

Me:        How much for half a dozen Timbits?

Clerk:    What’s that?

Me:        A six-pack.

Clerk:    Sorry, we don’t sell that here.

Me:        You know, half dozen?

Clerk:    I don’t know that.

Me:        Well, how do you sell them?

Clerk:    10, 15, 20.

Me: (slightly flummoxed, having expected an answer in my familiar old Imperial System of measurement. He was obviously speaking Metric. *Spark memory: When Canada went Metric, I was “too old” to be included in the transition, which seemed to have included only kids in Grades One to Five.* I sputtered.) Well, if you’re selling them by fives, you’ve obviously missed the first five.

Clerk:     I’m sorry sir, what is your order?

Me:        Twenty plain Timbits please.

Clerk:    Of course sir.

He rang the order in and his assistant collected my precious cargo. Mmmm. Still the greatest. Just like my Mom made…er almost Mom, almost.

Made up for the fact that my son walked me – WALKED me, mind you, walked ME, who lives at his computer – my son walked me clear across town to the nearest Tim Horton’s. This to get our traditional doughnut after a movie. The movie house we went to wasn’t anywhere near a Tim Horton’s – strange, I thought. Tim’s are everywhere. But then, the movie house is in another town. So we went home, then realized, we didn’t even get a doughnut. Hence, the walk.

And you know what? *Mm-mff-ff* I’m not even *munch-munch* stiff in the legs today. *smacking of lips*