|Mr. Spudnut, in the pastry.|
Today is Spudnut Day. I loved Spudnuts when growing up. Part of the mystique was there rarity, I could only have one when in Hastings, NE in the little side-street Spudnut bakery. They were raised-glazed donuts made with potato flour and so delicious.
And so I shall commemorate this wonderful pastry, one that is special in my memory, but who knows what they would taste like today. I should think the potato farmers would unit and market the heck out of them. We need the Madmen to get on this immediately.
|A Banshee, ethereally speaking|
My other special awareness, today, is to pay tribute to Banshees everywhere, especially the ones in my head. They have been there a long time. I have great respect for them but am glad to hear them. If you cannot hear them, they have taken you to the afterlife. Hearing them gives comfort for it means they have another soul in their grasp. We have to look for comfort where we can find it, eh. There beauty is small comfort, I dare concede, for fear of offending one of them.