Monday, September 17, 2012

One More Donut

Two weeks ago, when I ceased publishing my Donut Diary blog (, I believed that I had exhausted my foray into the world of dough.  But Sunday afternoon, while visiting my daughter in Bloomington, I decided to go in search of Crescent Donut--a Bloomington landmark that, evidently, created donuts to die for.  I had read about the place.

As fate (or maybe God's will) would have it, I didn't have to drive very far.  In fact, Crescent Donut was bunkered down at the bottom of a hill, a mere 200 yards from my daughter's apartment complex.  I could have walked there.  And I will!

After eating at the Irish Lion, I treated the whole family to a dozen at Crescent.  But as I compared my elation of this donut discovery to my daughter's disinterest in dough, I then realized why she had moved out of the house.  I crave donuts.  She craves a honeymoon.  I have nothing else to live for.  She has everything to live for.  I have an old wife, arthritic shoulders, and aspire to lose weight while eating fourteen donuts a week.  My daughter has a life and her highest aspirations and dreams do not include dough.

Still, I had to point out that Crescent Donuts is open 24 hours a day.  "Did you see the neon sign in the window?"

"Yes.  What about it?"

"That means you can walk down to Crescent any time you need a donut.  I'm talking 24 hours a day!  Place never closes.  Weekends.  Holidays.  Massive pileup on highway 37 . . . doesn't matter.  That place has an open door!  You can always get a jelly or a creme-filled or a cinnamon twist.  Do you hear what I'm saying?!"

I saved a raspberry jelly for the drive home, and after stopping in Martinsville for a cup of Starbucks coffee, I bit into this monster.  

Now I know why my daughter moved to Bloomington.  And when I'm not sitting in her apartment, wondering when she is going to ask me to leave, you can find me at Crescent Donuts across the street.  I'll be the old, lonely guy with a boxed dozen on the table staring up at the apartment complex at the top of the hill, wondering what the rest of the family is doing up there saturated in mirth and laughter.  Come join me.   

1 comment:

Neil said...

No idea who you are but found this after searching for the correct spelling of Cresent Donut, one of the great memories of my time in Bloomington. Great post!