The Parting Glass
I had intended to post this on the fourteenth, my first official day off from school. News in the early morning hours though of my Father-In-Laws passing has made me think that now is the right time to post. Steve Kloscak was a larger than life, big Marine from WWII, who raised his family on an auto workers salary and with an abundance of humor and love. His love of good food was one of the many things we shared and he kept his appetite right to the end. So I’m dedicating this post to dad and raise the parting glass in his honor.
Food memories abound in our lives. There is that thrill we all get to see the Thanksgiving turkey, in all its glory, Christmas cookies that send some folks in to a month long baking frenzy, or Easter ham with scalloped potatoes. Memorial Day and Labor Day conjure up an image of the picnic basket, hot dogs, hamburgers and fried chicken. Well, for me, that first day off for summer break from school brings memories of donuts. Not just any donuts though, Jack Frost donuts; a cake like concoction, dipped in maple glaze and rolled in chopped peanuts, my favorite! It’s been 5 summers now since I’ve had one of those lovely creations but the memory of them is still near and dear to my heart.
It was five years ago that we lost our dear neighbor Vera to a long fight with cancer. She was 88 years old. Vera was an amazing person. She was a nurse on a troop ship during WWII, making many crossings from England to America in some scary times. She was a world traveler, a great reader, a neighborhood historian and a person who acted as our mother, grandmother, neighbor, friend all in one feisty little package. Every year, for 15 years, I’d make a point on that first glorious Monday of my summer off, to start a pot of coffee, tell Vera I was leaving, drive the 15 minutes to Jack Frost on the corner of Fulton and Pearl, pick up a dozen donuts and scurry back.
By the time I made it home, the coffee was done. I’d grab the pot and carry it out to my front porch where Ms. Vera would be with her cup in hand, choosing her donut. Tradition dictated that she got hers first. We’d sit on the glider under the eaves of my house, rain or shine and contemplate the upcoming weeks of summer and how we’d be spending them. We’d talk of the future, the past, current events, neighbors, whatever came to mind. Sometimes, if we were feeling crazy, we’d have a second donut. Sometimes we would just sit and listen to the birds, their morning song the only conversation we needed.
Five years ago, on Valentines Day, Vera took her last journey from this world to her greater life in Heaven. When that June came along, it just didn’t seem right to go for donuts. The glider out front was too lonely without her, so Joe and I moved it to the back porch where it is to this day. I can’t go past Jack Frost or eat one of their fabulous donuts without thinking of my dear friend Vera. Food memories can be such powerful things.
