Well, folks, it’s here again. Fat Tuesday has rolled around and threatens to add to the roll around our waists. No matter what our scales say. No matter how much we wished we were thin again, today’s the day we can’t ignore. Everyone knows it’s Paczki Day.
It’s been sanctioned by tradition as the official day to stuff ourselves with goodies that will be off limits for the next seven weeks. Even an environment as sterile as Avery Square Apartments in Sault Ste. Marie has succumbed to these sweet donuts loaded with raspberry jelly or custard cream.
A notice was posted on our bulletin boards last week: “On Fat Tuesday get your paczki for the low price of $2 each. If you’re a member of the Residents’ Club, your first one is free. If you want more, you’ll have to pay the same price as non-members. Coffee will be provided. Meet your friends and make new ones at the fourth-floor conference room from 9-10:30 a.m. Don’t be late or you might not get your paczki.”
As a youngster, I’d never heard of such a pastry, nor did I know the day before Lent was designated as “Fat.” What I did know was that for a week my siblings and I had been hoarding as many sweets as our pennies would allow. I hid my stash where I knew it would be safe — in my toy metal cupboard in the room above the kitchen where I kept my dolls.
My brother never ventured near my playroom unless it was to pull the head off poor Shirley. She was so old her head wouldn’t stay put. If my brother was miffed at me for some silly reason, he’d get back at me by pulling off Shirley’s head. Unlike our older and wiser sister, he never found the candy hidden in my little cupboard.
Jude knew perfectly well where I’d hide black licorice or a half-eaten Mounds bar. She knew my Necco Wafers would be in the cupboard or tucked into the oven of my metal play stove. Unlike my brother, she had no qualms about searching through my toys as she tracked down sweets as deftly as a hunter tracks prey. Both of my siblings had their own hiding places so I’m not sure why they bothered with mine. Perhaps it was because my willpower was greater than theirs and I saved my treats until Sunday, but I doubt it. I think it was the fun of the search more than the finding of the goodies.
For reasons I have never understood, Sundays are not considered fast days. That’s why we could eat candy we had saved prior to the beginning of Lent. As a youngster, I didn’t ask questions about this discrepancy. I was happy when Sunday rolled around and it was time to break out the good stuff. Even Dad got in on the act. If relatives stopped by he would tell us to hide the chocolate bars and get out the hard Christmas candy. He enjoyed a Three Musketeers as much as we did, but he’d had enough of the rock-solid ribbon sugar candy or the equally hard pieces that were filled with jelly.
Which reminds me why I decided to write about Fat Tuesday and the famous jelly-filled paczkis. From outward appearances, they look like the plain old Bismarcks found in stores across America. I didn’t like them when I was young and I don’t like them today. I’d gladly pay $2 for a slice of Mardi Gras King Cake, but that’s not on offer. I’ll have to settle for whatever sweets I bake in my own oven.
Well, anyway, forget about gorging on those sweet calories and the guilt accompanying them. Enjoy your paczki and your 40 days of Lent.
To contact Sharon Kennedy, send her an email at sharonkennedy1947@gmail.com. Kennedy’s book, “View from the SideRoad: A Collection of Upper Peninsula Stories,” is available from her or Amazon.
This article originally appeared on The Petoskey News-Review: Gorging on Fat Tuesday | Opinion
Reporting by Sharon Kennedy, Community Columnist / The Petoskey News-Review
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