Donuts are part of the magic that makes life so sweet. I founded the Level 3 Friday Donut Club in 2004 and ran it until my departure in 2015. It had a three year run at Windstream and is now virtual, but at its peak, we had a rotation of 50+ folks who brought donuts every Friday. We had three simple rules: (1) five dozen (2) boutique shop donuts (3) by 8:00 am. This blog memorializes these e-mails to share my thoughts (and, once upon a time, announce the donut arrival). Have a happy Friday!
Search This Blog
Bread Babies for Dead Mateys
You’re likely familiar with the spooky Celtic traditions
that spawned Halloween. You might even be versed in the eerie amalgamation of Mesoamerican
and Catholic traditions that became el Día de los Muertos. Just when you
thought you’d heard them all, I’ve got a new one for you—well, the tradition is
quite old, I just expect it to be new to you. In Ecuador, an All Soul’s Day delicacy
(November 2nd) are Bread Babies –Guaguas de Pan
(pronounced wa-was). I’d never really questioned why we did it, just enjoyed
the pastries, often followed by a Colada
Morada chaser –a traditional All Soul’s Day concoction, made with 8
herbs, 5fruits, purple corn flour,
sugar and water, which is best served hot. So, I did a little research. It
turns out the Incas mummified their dead and would bring them out of their
graves once a year to share food and colada morada as a form of showing respect
and remembering your ancestors. Of course, the Spanish would have none of this
tomb desecration. So, large loaves of bread shaped like the bound mummies began
to be used as stand-ins. With time the recipe evolved (European wheat replaced American
pumpkin as the main ingredient) and the form factor became smaller, leaving ordinary
folks like me to shrug our shoulders at the odd shape while enjoying the taste.
So, on this All Hallows’ day, enjoy a Guagua de Pan, if you’re lucky enough to find
one. If not, I think a donut would be a fine stand-in.
Friends, The early bird catches the worm, however, as the sun rises I’d much rather have a Denver omelet than a diet of worms . Ready to fly the coop, my ducks all in a row, I ponder one more time whether a bird in hand is truly worth two in the bush. Egged-on by my quest to tuck away a nest egg, I’ve decided to change industries and hope that, like the phoenix, my career will also rise from the ashes of change. After all, I’m no spring chicken –my crow’s feet and gray bely my age – however, I have to trust my judgment and believe you can’t catch this old bird with chaff (whether or not folks think me an odd bird for my actions). And so I shall attempt to soar like an eagle, aware that counting my chickens before they hatch would be ill-advised. As I learn to talk turkey in the language of cybersecurity, I will endeavor not to hide my head in the sand, choosing instead to be like a duck – calm on the surface and paddle like hell underneath! And while my excessive use of bird-inspired
Friends, As 2021 comes to an end, it’s time to remember and be grateful for another year of life – there’s much for which to be grateful. Sure, some things could have gone better (they always can), but on balance things were good. At the González household, the cathartic process of capturing this year’s essence to burn at midnight is wrapping-up. This year’s theme, “Covid Games from home” uses Squid games (Netflix’s unlikely breakaway hit) as a way to mock the two main Covid variants of concern (Delta and Omicron) and commiserate about working from home with all the weirdness it carries along. Comfy slippers combined with dressing-up from the waist up for zoom meetings (not to mention the quarantine fifteen). As I hope for lots of snow and no wind (lest we need to call an audible on the midnight burn) my thoughts turn to my friends in Boulder county and hopes for a quick recovery. May 2022 bring an end to confinement and lots of opportunities to share donuts. Happy Friday!
Friends, I don’t know about you, but my household tends to use things a tad beyond their reasonably useful life. Cars, razors, pillows... heck, we squeezed the last BTU out of our home’s 25 year old thermostat —15 years is for rookies. This week we bid our fire pit farewell. Structurally unstable and rusted to the core, this contrivance was well on its way to returning to the soil. Memories of s’mores, cigars and shared spirits come rushing back, as does the six foot tall cardboard peach burned atop it, which caused the first stress fractures in the waning days of 2019. Good times! I suppose nothing lasts forever, but memories can add a sense of permanence to the fleeting. So go, grab a donut and make some new memories!! Happy Friday!