Time To Make the Cronuts

Gluttony of the mind and body

We had tentative plans with a friend this morning, and I had seen an ad for a local donut place making cronuts, so I resolved to acquire some before things kicked off. I also knew nobody else wanted cronuts, so I wound up making two trips, to two bakeries on opposite ends of town, only to come home and find out our friend was a no-show. We now have an unhinged amount of fried dough for three people.

Before my son leaves town again, he’s sorting through boxes of accumulated stuff from his last domestic address. Living next to a free on-base thrift store, and being my kid, he accumulated a metric ton or so of books and movies. While he’s keeping the former, stockpiling them in storage against the day he has a permanent address to curate his library, the movies are being sorted back into their cases and taken somewhere to offload today.

It feels like a disturbance in the universal order that there are piles of physical media on my dining room table and I am the only family member not engaged in reckoning with them. I made the offer, despite swearing off DVDs, and was told it would be better all around if they just went elsewhere, even if the recipient (my competition, in the galactic sense of the word) gives him pennies for them.

I had a distinct sense of being saved from myself during this discussion, and a feeling that it had been talked about in my absence. I felt wrangled, or managed, like a wayward cousin being kept on the path to recovery by a bemused and concerned support system.